


got some notes for you on that

by Mellow_Yellow



Series: Notes [1]
Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-05 12:56:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11578506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellow_Yellow/pseuds/Mellow_Yellow
Summary: Jon Lovett gets knocked up and he's really adult about it and it's a chill time for all involved.





	got some notes for you on that

**Author's Note:**

> timeline and canon details are def inaccurate because it really makes me lose my boner having to remember I'm writing about real people tbh. roughly ~2015?
> 
> everybody be cool, keep it secret keep it safe, don't let the way I die be because some podcast nerds learned I wrote lame mpreg fanfiction about them for the love of god.

*

 

The pregnancy test was positive. 

Jon felt weirdly calm, at first. His heart didn’t start pounding. His skin didn’t prickle with sweat. 

Pundit was at his feet, watching him. She was very still, like she could sense some weather system about to break overhead. 

He tilted the little stick to the side, mostly for form’s sake. Maybe he’d misread it. Hallucinated the blue line or something. That probably happened, intentionally ambiguous instructions, false positives. The executives over at Big Pregnancy Test trying to scam people into buying extra tests.

He gave it a discerning squint. Nope, still positive.

“Yikes,” he said out loud. His voice was flat. “ _Big_ yikes.”

There was a pounding at the bathroom door and he jerked, the test jumping from his hand onto the floor, plastic clattering delicately on tile. Pundit twitched in surprise. Jon watched her, breathing harder, feeling caught out. 

“Lovett, get out here, we’re running late.”

Shit. Favs was out there. They had a thing, that meeting with the—with those people, shit, his entire mind was a blank. He might have even set this meeting up and he couldn’t recall a single detail about it. 

He wasn’t feeling so calm anymore, something dark and suffocating rising like a tide, bubbling up threateningly. He’d watched a documentary once about tsunamis and how tsunamis were never the gigantic wave sweeping over the city like in the movies, they were more like a sudden high tide, sweeping in higher and harder and faster until everything was submerged.

Shit, fuck.

Favs knocked again. “I’m sorry to rush whatever’s going on in there but we need to _go_.”

Jon picked up the pregnancy test, wrapped it in toilet paper and threw it in the garbage. He barged out of the bathroom, pushing Favs aside. Pundit followed behind, tail wagging, so close to Jon that her nose kept bumping into the backs of his knees.

“God, would you _relax_? We’re not even late, it’s fine, we’re fine.” Jon had no idea what time the meeting was supposed to be at. Every fact in his head seemed to have dissolved away to nothing, leaving **_YOU’RE PREGNANT, YOU GODDAMN IDIOT_** flashing in neon lights the only remaining piece of retrievable information.

“It’s weird that you bring your dog in the bathroom with you,” Favs said.

Jon rolled his eyes. “Let me live, god.” He bent down to take Pundit’s soft face in his hands. “Hold down the fort, okay, buddy? Your dumb uncle and I have to go to a thing.”

“Do you have the notes I left from earlier?”

There was a folder on the key drop table by the front door, which Jon picked up on a hunch. Probably those were the notes. “Of course. Ready to go.”

Favs was frowning, watching him. “You okay, man?” He waved in the general direction of Jon’s face. “You’re all sweaty.”

“LA is a subtropical climate, read a book, Favs.” It was amazing how easy it was to be a brat on autopilot even though his ears were ringing. He slipped on his shoes, running a hand over his face. His skin did feel damp and clammy, which was fantastic and definitely a great way to make a good first impression as a media mogul on the rise at whatever the fuck this meeting was about. 

Favs looked concerned and unconvinced, but he was at heart a gentle conflict-averse people-pleaser and Jon was ready to exploit that deep evolutionary weakness shamelessly if it meant avoiding addressing being fucking pregnant for a few hours.

“Let’s go,” he said, tossing his keys at Favs, who caught them effortlessly against his chest. Goddamn jock. “You’re driving.”

 

*

 

The meeting was a blur. Jon felt shaky and borderline insane the entire time but he compensated by being a little louder and brasher than usual and making the potential advertisers (he thought they were advertisers, maybe they were investors? He really hadn’t been able to focus on anything) and Favs laugh a lot, which seemed to help move the meeting along.

They got lunch afterward, Favs chattering happily about how well the meeting went and how it was definitely going to improve the market share of the company one day if they could lock it in (god, what _had_ that meeting been about, seriously, Jon was going to have to look it up when he got home) and suddenly he couldn’t keep it in anymore.

He’d always been terrible with secrets, and this felt so big it wasn’t even a secret, just this huge sucking vacuum that needed to be unleashed on the world.

“So, I’m pregnant.”

It was almost worth the swoop of crushing anxiety in his chest at saying the words out loud to see the near-perfect spit-take Favs executed.

Favs choked out a few hacking coughs, sending pretentious in-house brewed soda all over the table, his eyes bulging at Jon. 

“Lovett. What?” He laughed, weakly. “That’s a—that’s a weird bit, man. Got a few notes for you, if you’re open to them—” 

“Not a bit.” Jon closed his eyes, breathing out through his nose. Jesus, it was hot. Why did they sit on the fucking patio? His heart was racing hard enough it was rattling against his ribs. “I’m really pregnant.” 

Hearing the words in his own voice made it all snap inescapably into the grid of reality, no longer buzzing fitfully around his head, instead locking inescapably into place. This was happening. This was real.

“Oh my god, Jon.” Favs reached out and grabbed Jon’s hand where it was resting, clenched, on the table, and squeezed. Jon inhaled, surprising himself by how wobbly he sounded. “Oh, my god. Are you okay? How long, I mean. When did you—it—holy _shit_.”

Jon laughed hollowly. “Pretty much.” He swallowed. “I just figured it out.” He hesitated, before forcing himself to say, “It’s a couple of months along. Maybe three. I need to see a doctor, but. I think that’s about the timeline.”

“Fuck! Three _months_?”

Favs was infinitely too well bred to ask Jon how in the fuck he hadn’t known for three entire months, but his eyes were asking it clear enough. Which was fair, really. Jon had no idea how he'd missed it for so long either. He lifted his shoulder in a weak shrug.

Releasing Jon’s hand with a final press, Favs ran both hands over his face. He looked deeply shaken. Jon could relate.

“Is it...Ronan’s?”

Jon shook his head, lips pressed together. 

“Well, that’s good, at least?” Favs made a little grimace of a smile. “I know things weren’t great for a while, so something like this is probably the last thing you needed.”

“God, fuck your goddamn irrepressible baseline positivity,” Jon snapped. “There’s no upside to this.”

Chastened, Favs sat back. They ate in silence, Jon mulishly poking at his fries that were now mostly cold but he was still probably going to eat all of, and also steal the rest from Favs’ plate. Favs was watching him, visibly freaked out but mostly worried. Briefly, Jon fantasized about what it would be like if this was Favs’ baby instead. Then he thought of Favs and Emily cheerfully helping Jon raise his accidental disaster baby and also raising him, probably, a proud semi-gay triad.

But it wasn’t Favs’. That would be too easy.

“Then whose is it, Lovett?” Favs asked quietly.

Jon looked away. “I can’t really talk about it, right now.”

Favs, god bless his gentle soul, didn’t push him on it, at least not right away. “Did you text Tommy how the meeting went yet?” he asked instead after a moment.

Jon sighed, rubbing hard at his eyes. “No, I didn’t. You tell him.” 

There was no way in hell he could talk to Tommy right now. 

He watched Favs pull out his phone, then hesitate. “Should I tell him about...” He looked meaningfully at Jon’s belly.

“No,” Jon said, shaking his head. “Don’t tell anyone just yet.”

Favs nodded and carefully typed out a text on his phone, stealing glances at Jon every now and again.

Jon looked over his shoulder at the road, at the cars driving by, at dozens of people living their own lives, surviving their own crises.

They were doing it. He’d do it, too.

 

*

 

He went to the doctor at the end of the week, a few days after his lunch with Favs, who had started hovering so aggressively whenever they were together that Jon had spent most of his time holed up in his house, hiding with Pundit.

He’d been hoping for a lady OB, maybe a hip young lesbian or something, someone Jon could relate to, make erudite pop culture references with. 

Instead, he got a white guy in his fifties with stern eyes who kind of reminded him of his dad, which was unexpected and stressful and a general letdown, so it felt pretty on brand for this entire experience so far. 

After the nurse did his blood work, the doctor sat him down. He shook Jon’s hand, introducing himself formally. 

“I’ll be your obstetrician, Dr. Frank Stevens.”

Jon hated referring to other adults by honorifics unless they were politicians, which maybe was an artificial distinction, so he let it slide instead of being a snot about it.

“And I’ll be your accidentally pregnant moron patient, Dr. Jon Lovett.” Dr. Stevens frowned, not even a hint of a smile, which felt not great. Jon grimaced. “I’m not really a doctor. That’s just a joke. Not the moron part, though.” 

Dr. Stevens gave him a steady look, Jon feeling his neck go red as hell, and got into it. 

He went through Jon’s medical history, jotting down details old school on his clipboard and then painstakingly pecked out the information on the computer beside him, so everything took twice as long as it should. 

Based on Dr. Stevens’ shoes and haircut alone, Jon was preemptively defensive, anticipating some bullshit conservative diatribe about choosing life, psyching himself up to brattily demand to know about his abortion options first and foremost, mostly to be difficult because his head was a total muddle and he really wasn’t sure what he wanted to do anyway. 

Before he could open his mouth, though, Dr. Stevens sat back, lacing his fingers together. “You’re nearly twelve weeks, so at this point you can proceed with the pregnancy, you can terminate, or we can discuss options like adoption.”

Jon was caught mid-interruption, his mouth hanging open a little. He closed it, swallowed tightly. “So I have literally two and a half doors to choose from.”

“Unfortunately, from a medical perspective pregnancy is pretty binary.”

“Cool. Cool cool cool.” He ran his hands through his hair, grabbed on with both hands. Considered pulling all of his hair out by the roots and letting loose a primal scream. Also, he was pretty tired, a nap in the middle of this doctor’s office sounded like a good option. He was torn. 

Dr. Stevens' brow furrowed thoughtfully. “How are you doing, Jon?” 

God, he really, really reminded Jon of his dad. Out of fucking nowhere, his nose started to prickle threateningly. He gritted his teeth together.

“I’m fine. This was a surprise, but it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Well, there’s really no right or wrong way to handle this. If you were feeling overwhelmed or anxious, that would make a lot of sense, especially if this wasn’t expected.”

Dr. Stevens was watching him, patient and calm. It made Jon feel messy and out of control in response, and he found himself blurting out, “How in the hell wouldn’t I have known about this? How did I not _notice_?” 

“Looking back, were there any symptoms? Discomfort, nausea or dizziness, fatigue?”

Jon cast his mind back. Sometimes he got sick in the mornings, but he also got sick after taking vitamins half the time. He was sore a lot, but not enough that he’d thought much of it. He was tired, but nothing compared to the bone-deep exhaustion of his life in DC, so it had seemed negligible. Once or twice he'd thought he was coming down with a bug, but mostly he figured he was being dramatic and pushed through. 

“The human body also has an amazing ability to deceive us when it comes to something we’re not actively looking for. And male pregnancies are comparatively rare. Did you know you were a carrier for the gene?”

“Yes,” he muttered, grudgingly. He had known, was the worst part, and he’d always been so, so careful as a result, except for one stupid careless night in a two-story walk-up San Francisco efficiency, which was apparently enough to undo years of otherwise spotless precaution.

Dr. Stevens didn’t push him for more, and he didn’t seem disappointed or critical of Jon either. Maybe he didn’t look so much like Jon’s dad after all.

“Well, prenatal vitamins are a good start, if you do decide to move forward. I’ll write you a prescription. Unfortunately, if you do decide to terminate, we’re coming up against a hard deadline pretty soon.”

They talked a bit more about remedies in case Jon did start experiencing symptoms, and Dr. Stevens wrote out a prescription for the vitamins. They talked more about abortion options. They scheduled his next appointment in two weeks.

Jon was feeling pretty numb by the end of it.

“It might seem soon, but male pregnancies are an inherently higher risk, so we want to be on the safe side. Of course, if you make a decision before that, give me a call and I can schedule you in for a procedure as well.” He set down his pen. “You can also give me a call if you need to reschedule your next appointment. In case you need to make sure your partner is available, or you want a friend or family member to come with.”

It took a lot of effort not to look down at his stomach, or touch it, keenly aware of it as a body part in a way he had never before. 

Jon shook his head. “Um, no. It’s just me. I’m alone.”

He laughed tonelessly to himself. He didn’t touch his stomach but still thought to himself, _Well, not quite alone_.

 

*

 

He spent the weekend mulling it over, avoiding everyone, especially Favs, and ignoring text messages and being mostly a ghost on Twitter, obviously combing through his mentions but not tweeting out a single thing. 

“I think I’m going to keep it,” he told Pundit on Sunday.

It was insane. It was absolutely a stupid decision.

But he had some decent development money left, he was working through the process of putting together a business with Favs and Tommy, he had a place to live, he had a career, and most of all this he had this horrible niggling voice taunting him that this was probably his only shot at this. At a kid. He couldn't imagine ever being this careless with birth control again, and the chance of him managing to trap somone into marrying him felt so remote it was a fantasy. 

Plus, he realized, he really wanted to keep it. He was so sure, was the thing. It was incredible. He never felt that sure about anything.

Pundit panted at him from her spot on the couch, rolling onto her back, feet still puppyish and slightly too big for her frame wagging in the air above her. 

“What do you think? Ready to be a big sister?” He sank his hand into the soft fur on her side, rubbing. “I’m good with _you_ , right?”

He was, too. He was a great pet owner. That seemed to surprise people, sometimes, like Favs or his parents or some of the LA types he’d made tenuous friends with during the short-lived 1600 Penn days. A lot of people thought because he was loud and bold and shameless that he was also too frivolous and immature to care more for someone else than he did for himself. He suspected his own parents thought that (they hadn’t thought he was ready to get a dog, even, in his fucking thirties). Ronan definitely had, toward the end.

Maybe they were wrong, though. He’d always thought he was more than that. That he could give all of himself to someone, if he had the chance. That he’d just been waiting for the opportunity.

He'd always figured it would be with some gorgeous, witholding, emotionally unavailable man TBD. He'd never thought it would be a baby, but he could be flexible. 

He sighed heavily. He couldn’t even imagine what his parents would say about this.

His phone chimed and when he picked it up he saw a text from Tommy. 

 _I saw that intern you always hated working at an Urban Outfitters the other day out by me. Guess DC karma isn’t dead._  

He knew immediately who Tommy was talking about, some asshole named David who used to make fun of the way Jon talked behind his back, even though Jon was a staffer and David was some asshole lax bro intern. Jon thought it probably had something to do with some unrequited homoerotic tendencies on David’s part but it didn’t change how much Jon deeply, deeply hated him.

_the fuck were you doing in an Urban Outfitters? what a hip young teen you've become. the Bay Area has changed you._

_fuck you, haha. n_ _Needed a bday present._

It felt like the perfect overture. You know who else loved presents? Kids. You know who was about to have a kid? Jon Lovett.

He tried to ease into it, going for the gentle tease at first.

_buy me anything good?_

_scented candles and a tennis bracelet._

_that's a weird gift for me. I hate candles. I'll keep the bracelet tho._

_noted, lol._

Jon smiled to himself, watching the dot-dot-dot as Tommy typed. Then—

 _nah, I'd get you something better than candles. it was for Hanna’s mom._  

Jon stared at the phone in his hand, suddenly dry-mouthed.

It didn't make sense for it to hit him in the chest so hard. As far as he knew, Tommy and Hanna were still together. He made it a priority not to be too in the know about it, though. He knew that they’d only been on a break in the first place when Jon had been up to visit Tommy in May. None of this was news, and Jon was an idiot for letting it upset him now.

He set the phone on the couch and let his head fall back on the couch.

Tommy was with Hanna now, and Jon was pregnant. 

He really wanted a beer, or to get stoned, but he couldn’t, not for the foreseeable future. Perfect timing. 

His phone chimed again. Like a masochist, he read the text from Tommy.

 _I’m really looking forward to coming to LA._  

Jon exhaled slowly and replied. 

_Me, too._

 

_*_

 

“So, I hear you’re ranting for two these days,” Emily said, pleased at the joke and also genuinely concerned for Jon's emotional health. The perfect Favreau combo, and she wasn’t even technically a Favreau yet.

“Of course he told you already, even though I specifically asked him to keep it the fuck to himself,” Jon groused, even though he wasn’t really mad, mostly performing for form’s sake.

It kind of made it easier, not having to work up to the whole speech again himself.

“Have you decided what you’re going to do?” she asked gently. 

He rubbed at his eyes. “I’m keeping it.”

She hugged her knees next to him on the couch, watching him with pure excitement. “Wow, you’re going to have a baby, though.” She smiled, delighted. “That’s so exciting.”

Sometimes Jon forgot how young Emily was. She was articulate and self-possessed and lovingly bossed the hell out of Favs, so it wasn’t always as glaringly apparent as it was in this moment that she was still in her mid-fucking-twenties. 

“Yeah, super exciting,” he said dully.

He’d still been drinking over the past few months, smoking the occasional cigarette outside a bar, getting stoned— _especially_ getting stoned. He wasn’t an early-years Drew Barrymore or anything and it probably worked in his favor that he’d been slowing down on the partying significantly compared to when he’d first moved out to LA, but shit. He’d had two beers after dinner just last _week_.

He put his head between his knees, breathing heavily, teetering on the edge of a panic attack.

He felt Emily put a gentle hand on his back. “Lovett, it’s okay. Just breathe. In, out. You’ve got this.” 

Usually being lectured on following the basic mechanics of respiration would make him snap at anyone else but Emily’s sweet, calm voice actually was helping him slow his breathing down, the slow pressure of her gently stroking his back soothing him back from the brink. 

“You’d make a much better mom than my dumb gay ass,” he muttered into his knees.

She smacked him, lightly, right between the shoulder blades. “Stop it. You’ll be a great parent.” She paused, making a thoughtful sound. “Wow, that is really weird to say out loud, though.” 

“Tell me about it.”

“You ready to sit up now?”

He was. With a deep exhale, he slouched back against the couch. His hand was resting on his stomach unconsciously. He looked down at it, contemplative.

When he raised his head, he saw Emily was watching him too. “Jon said you haven’t mentioned who the other dad was,” she said carefully.

“Nope,” he confirmed. “I haven’t.”

“What do you think your reveal timeline on that’s going to be?”

“Maybe there is no other dad. Maybe I’m just asexually replicating, like a worm. Maybe I’m the next frontier of human evolution, Emily.”

“Hm. Maybe you are.”

They sat in silence, Jon trying to figure out if his heartburn was pregnancy related or because he’d eaten a burrito in under five minutes for lunch. He still didn’t feel any different. He almost wanted some terrible pregnancy symptom to manifest just so he would know this was real. 

“I’ll be honest, though. Jon is worried about you. I’m a little bit, too.” 

“Why?” Jon snorted. “Things are really going well for me. I don't want to brag, but if you’ll recall from earlier, I am newly and accidentally pregnant.”

“You don’t have to do any of it alone, though,” Emily said firmly. “I know how you get, you feel like you have to be this hardass about doing things on your own.”

“Yeah, that’s me, well-known straight shooter and rugged hardass.”

"Well, I wouldn't say rugged, necessarily." Emily took his hand before he could snipe back. “You know what I mean. You don’t have to make things harder for yourself.”

Jon wasn’t quite sure that was true, or if he deserved for anything to be easy, but he let Emily hold his hand for a minute.

After a minute, he offered, “Maybe you and Favs can just adopt both me and the fetus. Raise us together as siblings.”

“I’ll see what Jon has to say. He did always have his heart set on a thirty-two-year-old aspiring media mogul as a firstborn.” 

Jon put his feet up on the coffee table, flagrantly defying Favs’ emphatic No Feet On The Coffee Table rule.

“I bet I’d be a handful. I’ll probably turn out to be gay, go through a real rebellious stage in college and vote Republican, try too hard to earn Favs’ approval. I’ll be such a headache. Ask my real parents.” Emily hummed sympathetically. He pointed at his belly. It still felt weird to touch it too openly in front of other people. “This one, though. This is gonna be a good one. I can tell.”

Emily hummed again. “Yeah, I think so, too.”

 

*

 

Things were off with Favs for a few days.

He’d taken the news that Jon was going to move forward with the pregnancy well, hugged Jon, got a little sappy and talked about being an uncle. He and Emily invited Jon over for dinner every night, fussing over him, asking borderline invasive questions about morning sickness and swelling feet and his doctor's appointments. Emily had breezed easily from surprise into genuine anticipation, but Favs kept eyeing Jon when he thought Jon wasn't looking. Favs wasn't crafty, though. Jon caught him every time.

He seemed to watch Jon the most when they were having endless planning meetings for the podcast done, brainstorming with Tommy on the line, laughing as Jon raved but still watchful. It wasn't like Favs and it made him nervous.

Jon knew he was being paranoid. There was no way Favs could know anything. 

But then, out of nowhere one day—

“So you’re really not going to tell the dad?” Favs asked.

“Not right now,” Jon hedged. “Soon, though. I’m just—I just need to get some stuff figured out first.”

He knew it was killing Favs that Jon wouldn’t tell him who it was. Mostly it seemed to hurt his feelings that Jon wouldn't share his pain or whatever, which was strangely a lot more difficult to deal with than if he was mad at simply being left out of the know, which is what Jon would have been feeling.

“You can’t keep secrets like this from people,” Favs said sternly.

Jon threw his head back, laughed. Felt deeply unsteady. “Jesus, Favs. You worked for the White House. How can you still not understand that sometimes, you need to keep things from people for the sake of national security?”

“This isn’t national security-related, though.”

“Yes, it is,” Jon muttered, mutinously. Tommy would understand. And that just made him feel shittier, thinking about Tommy, so he stopped.

He was already thinking about Tommy too much. That night in San Francisco, in particular, was haunting him.

He kept getting wisps of sense memories. Tommy shoving him into the wall, biting at the hinge of Jon’s jaw, sucking on his tongue as he kissed him. Tommy was a surprisingly sloppy kisser, in a weirdly hot way. Like he couldn’t be bothered to make it neat and organized, he was too desperate to taste Jon, get his mouth on every part of him.

He remembered the sound of Tommy muttering in Jon’s ear as he fucked him, breathless and intense. Gritting out, “Oh, god,” over and over, almost feverish, “oh my god, _Jon_.” 

Tommy hadn’t been able to stop touching him, reaching for Jon again and again throughout the night.

They had fucked for hours. Even in the moment, it was already like a memory, too hazy and good to be real.

Jon woke up exhausted and sore and dehydrated, Tommy wrapped around him and still asleep, snoring softly into Jon’s neck. It was like suspended animation before something horrible happened, right before a bomb going off, slow-mo before the disaster.

Jon had never before or since felt such a deep stab of terror, not even when he found out he was pregnant. 

Favs pulled him out of his thoughts. “Listen, I know you’re dealing with a lot right now, but I just don’t want you to do something that you might really regret later on.”

Raising an eyebrow, Jon clarified, “Like having a baby out of wedlock?”

Favs laughed. “Wedlock? Yes, Lovett, I’m worried about the legitimacy of your unborn child. No, I mean—keeping this from the other dad, just because you’re maybe feeling like it might be hard to tell them right now.” 

“That’s not what’s happening, I’m going to tell them. Soon.” 

Favs didn’t look entirely satisfied, but he nodded. He looked at Jon’s belly. “How’s the littlest straight shooter doing today?”

Jon smirked. “Fine.” He still didn’t feel any different. He kept having nightmares that he’d go in in six months and they’d open him up and find nothing but an empty cavity, no baby to be found.

Weird that that was starting to feel like a nightmare, and not the actual having a baby part. 

When Favs looked away, Jon snuck a hand over his stomach. He kept getting this weird urge to touch it lately. The fetus probably couldn’t feel it, but it calmed Jon down a little bit. Saying hello. Reminding himself that he wasn't alone. There was the two of them, at least. Jon would take care of the little parasite. 

He could promise to do his best, at least.

 

*

 

That night he stared at his phone for thirty minutes before getting up to pace a few laps around his entire house.

Already his gait was changing, his already short-legged stride becoming ungainly. This pregnancy thing was truly going to suck, it seemed.

He collapsed back on the couch and picked up his phone.

_hey, quick question for you_

He hit send and had to take a bunch of deep breaths, his heart pounding.

Maybe Tommy wouldn't respond. He was busy most nights nowadays. It was part of his insufferable work-life balance kick he was always going on about since leaving the White House.

_what's up, Lo?_

Fuck, Jon hated that nickname. He told Tommy to never call him it. Tommy ignored him, like he always did when he thought Jon was being unreasonable.

_when are you going to finally move to LA you dickhead?_

It wasn't quite what he'd meant to say, but it was a fine enough placeholder as Jon worked up his courage.

 _why, you miss me?_ Tommy sent through a little blushing emoji. Christ, this guy. He was the worst there was. 

 _not even a little and sometimes I even forget your name_  Jon typed back immediately, feeling halfway serious and mean about it, piqued that Tommy had the gall to be cute right now.

_I miss you and Favs too, Lovett_

Jon and Favs. Not just Jon. Of course not just Jon. Why would he miss just Jon. He was being petty, he knew he was, but the feeling was so overpowering he couldn't begin to fight against it.

Instead, he pressed on: _so, does that mean you're moving to LA soon or what? it's stupid to make plans to record the podcast with one of us remote all the time._ That sounded pretty legit. A well-worn whine on Jon's part.

_it's not that simple._

Jon typed out Y _OU CAN'T SEE IT BUT I'M ROLLING_ _MY EYES_ but before he could hit send, Tommy responded again.

_I really like it here. I like the city. I feel really happy for the first time in forever._

There was a long pause as the dot-dot-dot pulsed on Jon's screen. Numbly, Jon deleted his last reply.

_I know that's kind of cliche. finding myself in California like some hippie._

Tommy sounded sheepish, even over text. Jon wanted to say LA was California too, and Tommy could easily find himself here, and the property market was just as overpriced in WeHo as it was in the fucking Bay Area, Tommy would barely notice the difference, but he didn't.

Jon remembered in vivid detail what it was like those last months Tommy was still working at the White House. Every time they'd skyped Tommy had looked wan and pale like a Victorian heroine about to succumb to some terrible wasting disease. He wasn't sleeping for anything. Jon used to wake up to strings of texts about infomercials from him sent at two, three, four in the morning DC-time, when he knew Tommy had to get up at five most days. He was even worse than after he split up with Kaite, and Jon and Favs had been mere moments away from an honest-to-god intervention, then. The final days of the NSC era had been agonizing to watch from afar, knowing Tommy had been on the edge of a nervous breakdown and not being able to do anything. He sure as fuck hadn't been _happy,_ to say the very least.

But now he was. In fucking San Francisco. With Hanna, apparently, who Jon had only met twice but had still managed to make a lasting impression on him as very gorgeous and charmingly bubbly and incredibly smart. 

He sent through, _you're a huge cliche, so it fits._ Then, after a minute, he added, _I get it, tho._

He did. He'd been the first to make the trek out west, after all. It hadn't quite ended up with him a dominant Hollywood showrunner of several erudite award-winning comedies, but he treasured the memory of those first few months of freedom, unwinding from the fucking depressing hangover of DC life, learning to sleep in again, getting a tan. Feeling, if not happy, because Jon didn't really know when he'd last been happy, then at least content, for the first time in a while.

_enjoy your housing crisis and your damp weather then, I guess._

He bit his lip hard, refusing to let it wobble as he watched Tommy's response come in.

_I will. and I'll be in LA soon, stop being dramatic. you're not on the moon._

Pundit put her paw on his knee, whining a little. He put down his phone for a moment and exhaled. Took another deep breath and let it out. Did it a few more times until his throat felt less clogged and he could type out one last response. 

_I'm glad you're happy, Tommy._

_thanks, Jon._

So that was that, then.

He dropped the phone to his side, ignoring it as it slid off the couch and thumped to the floor. Instead, he brought his hand to his belly and after a brief hesitation let it settle there, pressing firm through the pocket of his ratty hoodie.

He could feel the slight bump, even if it wasn't especially visible yet. He hadn't felt any movement inside, which Dr. Stevens told him was relatively normal for a first pregnancy. It was still unnerving knowing something was in there, growing, and he couldn't see it happening.

He was starting to _feel_  something, though. Gradually. The only way he could describe it was a fierce, almost bloodthirsty protectiveness. 

He rubbed lightly at his belly, giving himself the luxury of feeling every spike of pain in his chest for a full two minutes. 

Then he forced himself to push it all away.

There were bigger things to worry about, now.

 

*

 

Tommy was scheduled to come visit from San Francisco in three weeks.

He was still making noises on their conference calls about why it didn't make sense for him to move to Hollywood yet, most of which sounded like bullshit excuses to Jon, but what did he know, really. He was too distracted to argue much, letting Favs carry most of the weight of making Tommy feel guilty for insisting on having his own independent life from them.

Jon didn’t try to tell Tommy about the pregnancy again. In fact, he barely spoke to him at all outside of work. Tommy still texted him, the messages becoming successively more tentative as Jon’s frostiness was impossible to ignore, until Tommy was only sending Jon a picture of a dog or weird graffiti around his neighborhood every few days or so.

He knew he was being a dick, but the longer it went on, the less he knew how to course correct. 

Somehow, in the meantime, they took meetings and made plans and pitched the podcast to media companies and fielded offers and accepted a position, began scheduled guests, agonized over direction and tone and theme, Jon doggedly making plans for the concept of his own eventual show one day that now felt more and more like too much to handle, given the general State of Everything.

He called his parents one afternoon to tell them, cuddling Pundit in his lap, embarrassed by how scared he was. It turned out his instincts were half-right. His mom had sounded puzzled but like she was putting in the effort to sound mostly excited; his dad had stonily refused to say anything but, "What do you mean you don't know who the father is," coldly, like it was the worst possible thing he could imagine.

Maybe it was for him, Jon allowed, even worse than the male pregnancy part.

He knew his dad would come around eventually and he just needed to give a token performance of being the biggest stubborn dick in the universe first, but it still fucking sucked. He was always so baffled by Jon, and that had only grown when Jon came out, and then when they'd found out he was a carrier and his parents had had to have the painfully uncomfortable conversation about how Jon had to take precautions all the time, different than most other guys, no matter what.

So he didn't talk much to his parents for a while. He figured they all needed some space to process.

Also in the meantime, Jon started to finally show. 

It felt like it happened overnight. He had a feeling he’d been on the cusp for several weeks now, but it was like now that Jon knew, every subtle change in his body was blunt as a claxon when he looked in the mirror. His stomach was rounding out, which was annoying because he’d already gained a little weight in the last year or so and he’d had big plans to finally get his act together this summer and hit the gym and slim back down to his fighting weight, but that was obviously a pipe dream. His ass and thighs felt sturdier than normal, teetering from thick out into soft, and it was all very unpleasant.

One night he ate two and a half frozen pizzas for dinner and the only reason it wasn’t three was that he’d broken down crying six slices into the third and was sobbing too hard to finish the rest, Pundit whining and jumping up to paw at him in distress. 

It was a low point.

He did end up eating the rest of it in the morning for breakfast, though.

He refused to be one of those pregnant people who whined about being so _fat_ when really they were just fucking pregnant, and he stuck valiantly to that vow for about five days until he caught sight of himself in the hallway mirror in Favs’ and was abruptly horrified by the hunching sweaty troll person he saw reflected.

“Fuck, I’m fat,” he said. 

“You’re not fat, you’re pregnant,” Favs said easily, and wow, okay, Jon had no idea how instantly enraging it would be to have someone else try and pacify him with that.

“I can be both, asshole,” he hissed. Pundit leaned against his ankles, sighing. She was really clingy lately.

Favs shrugged easily, always difficult to rattle but especially since Jon had told him he was knocked up. It turned out that pacifying a pregnant psychopath was truly Jonathan Favreau’s naturally placid temperament’s time to shine, and Jon kind of wanted to slug him a lot of the time and also, like, curl up at his feet and let him feed Jon donuts.

He threw himself down in front of his computer, trying to tamp down on any more crazed thoughts.

“Your skin looks really good,” Favs said out of nowhere. He was leaning back in his chair, ankles crossed, dappled in sunlight as it sliced through the curtains, tan and trim, the fucker. 

Jon, hunched over his desk alternating between feeling overheated and sticky and then getting chilled from the sweat, peered up at him, never having felt more grotesque in comparison. “Okay, serial killer.”

Favs laughed. “I’m serious! Like, not to be a cliché, but you’re kind of glowing.”

“That’s a myth,” Jon grumbled. “Shut the fuck up. Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not making fun of you. I don’t know if this will just make you mad, but you kind of...carry it well.”

Jon had never wanted to murder someone so much in his life. That apparently showed on his face, because Favs leaned away, looking alarmed. “Okay, you’re mad, I get it. My bad.”

They dicked around on their laptops in silence until Jon told himself he couldn't put it off any longer and put his hands in his lap, tangling his fingers together, trying to swallow back the anxiety until he could manage to force the words out.

"I told the other dad," he said quietly.

Favs sat up straight, watching Jon intently. "Shit, really? How'd it go?"

It wasn't hard to make himself look miserable and embarrassed. It felt pretty method, in fact. The farthest thing from an act Jon could imagine.

"He, um." He picked at the grain of the fancy rough-hewn table top in Favs' kitchen. "He doesn't really want to be involved in all this. He's with someone else, and it's just. The timing is bad."

Jon glanced up and watched Favs' face fall. "Fuck." He got up and came to Jon's side of the table, putting his arm around Jon and pulling him in. "Fuck, Jon. I'm so sorry."

Jon let himself be hugged in a way he wouldn't usually allow, Favs wrapping his arms all the way around Jon's shoulders almost too tight, the contact suffocating and grounding all at once.

"What a fucking asshole," Favs seethed into the crown of Jon's head, and Jon had to laugh.

"No, it's me. I'm the asshole. Forcing this on some poor unsuspecting one-night stand. It's not his fault."

"It's not your fault, either," Favs insisted.

Jon didn't argue back, knowing any line of reasoning he tried to debate would rapidly spiral out of his ability to defend without coming out with the truth, and apparently, he wasn't doing that. Not at all.

He could admit Favs was being a good stand-in baby daddy. He wondered if Tommy would humor him as much as Favs did. Probably not was the automatic answer, but then, Jon was thinking of Tommy from before. A Tommy that didn’t know Jon was pregnant and didn’t feel obligated to be sweet to him the way Favs was almost on accident simply because it was his nature. Tommy, who was a prickly little stressball and usually a dick, except when he was being kind and noble and sensitive. He would probably feel it was his role to be nice to Jon if he found out, too, compliment his skin like a creep, placate his wildly vacillating moods.

Maybe try to be with Jon, probably. Offer him some kind of shotgun wedding. Introduce him to the whole boat shoe clan, arm clasped tightly around Jon's shoulder, feigning pride as he stoically showed off Jon and his giant belly.

Christ.

The idea of Tommy deciding to be with Jon out of duty honestly made something in Jon’s chest feel like it was about to give out.

Because Tommy would do it. Dive right in, no hesitation. He loved nothing more than answering the call of duty, and joylessly standing beside the pregnant idiot carrying his child, manfully Doing The Right Thing for years and grinning and bearing it for the sake of the kid—fuck, Tommy had been training for this his whole _life_.

Which was why Jon couldn’t even give him the opening.

 

*

 

Because Jon was truly an idiot of the first water, he spent most of the trip to meet Tommy at the airport convincing himself that it probably wouldn’t be that big of a deal to see him again.

“You okay?” Favs asked. He was driving, Jon curled morosely against the passenger window.

Favs had been glancing over every time they slowed down since they'd left the house, feeding off of Jon's nerves. His hovering had only become more pointed in the last few weeks, Emily nearly as bad. In a way, Jon did kind of feel like he'd been adopted as their idiot kid, and he was mortified by how comforting it was.

“I’m fine. Just a little nauseous.” That was true. Just not from strictly baby-related reasons for once.

“Okay, well, tell me if you need to pull over.” 

They waited by baggage claim, Jon getting more jittery with every second, until Favs said, “There he is!” and Jon looked up and saw Tommy striding toward them, grinning broadly. 

He looked tired but excited to see them, bags under his eyes, grey smedium tshirt clinging stupidly to his broad shoulders, dorky baseball hat pulled low over his forehead.

There was a low throb of heat at the base of Jon’s spine, warring for attention with his regular pregnancy back pain that had been increasing in intensity for the last several weeks. He felt overheated, sweat beading along his hairline.  

Favs and Tommy did a quick bro-hug, slapping each other’s backs enough times that Jon didn’t understand why they didn’t just give in and hug like normal adults. 

“It’s so good to see you, man,” Favs said, finally letting go. 

“Tell me about it, feels like it’s been a million years.” Tommy’s voice sounded so good, deep and mumbly, familiar.

He turned expectantly to Jon. “Lovett, hey,” he said, voice soft. It was hard to believe it was the first time they'd seen each other since May, since Jon had left Tommy sleeping peacefully and taken a cab to the airport where he hung around for five hours for his flight rather than wait for Tommy to wake up and gently and compassionately tell Jon how much he regretted fucking him.

Before Jon could react, Tommy swooped in and wrapped him up in a tight hug, not a single bro characteristic to it. 

Jon locked his knees, refusing to lean into it or crumple at all. He did allow himself to wrap his arms around Tommy’s narrow waist and squeeze hard, but that was it.

Tommy put his face into the side of Jon’s neck and inhaled, big hands resting firm between Jon’s shoulders. Jon had forgotten how tall he was. He smelled like sandalwood, like black-and-white pictures of rangy men smoking cigarettes during their break from the factory line, staring frankly into the camera, strong forearms braced on their knees. It was terrible. 

He could feel the exact second Tommy realized something was off.

He went still, arms wrapped around Jon, drawing back just enough that he could see Jon out of the corner of his eye.

“Um.” Jon’s belly was pressing into him pretty unavoidably now. Tommy definitely could feel it. It was obvious what it was. Jon felt fat, but his stomach was kind of firm. He did his best to remain defiantly silent, though, forcing Tommy to point it out. “Lovett. Jon. Is that...”

Jon’s hands were shaking. He clenched them into fists at the small of Tommy’s back. 

Tommy pulled back, peering down at Jon in abject bewilderment. His eyes kept darting from Jon’s face down to his abdomen and then back up again in an endless circuit. 

“Are you.” Tommy coughed. “I don’t want to be a dick or anything, so tell me if I’m wrong, but are—”

He couldn’t seem to say it. Jon shrugged out of Tommy’s arms, doing jazz hands. “Um, I wanted to wait to tell you in person.” Fuck, _he_ couldn’t even say it. He cast around for some way to articulate it, short of actual mime. Somehow, what he came up with was, “Welcome to the premiere of Knocked Up 2: Electric Boogaloo.”

Tommy’s translucent eyebrows went scrunched. “Knocked Up 2? This is your second time being knocked up?”

Jon shrugged, chewing on his lip. “Well, Knocked Up already came out, so this would obviously be the sequel, just not with Seth Rogan. Not all sequels have a linear plot, Tommy, you live your life by so many rules.” 

Favs cut in, nudging Jon with his shoulder. “Pure poetry. Clearly, a master of the spoken and written word.”

Tommy was looking at Jon’s belly, and Jon had to strain not to cover his arms over it. 

“Holy shit,” he whispered. “You’re really—you’re really pregnant?” 

Jon nodded shakily. “Yep. I really am.”

Tommy finally tore his eyes from Jon’s stomach, still looking knocked on his ass. “Who—with who?”

Favs groaned. “He’s being incredibly coy about it, Tommy, don’t waste your breath.” He reached to grab one of Tommy’s bags. When Jon went to take the backpack on reflex, Tommy held it away.

“I got it,” he insisted. 

Jon rolled his eyes. “My arms aren’t broken. I’m capable of doing simple courtesies.” 

Tommy ignored him, swinging his backpack over his shoulder. “What does ‘being coy’ mean in this context?” he asked Favs.

“It means he’s keeping it a secret. He won’t tell anyone. Not even me.”

“Is it...someone we know?” Tommy asked, trying for so hard for casual he circled back around to severe.

Jon shook his head. “No. No one you know. It was a one-night thing in LA, nothing major. So it’s kind of weird.”

Favs looked surprised. “That’s honestly the most detail we’ve gotten out of him in a month. You’re like a snake charmer, Tommy.”

Tommy looked uncomfortable but he tried to laugh, the sound hollow. “Who would have thought, Jon Lovett able to effectively keep a secret.”

“Just because I’m unable to keep from telling you right now that I'm getting you a new iPhone case for Christmas doesn’t mean I can’t keep important secrets, Tommy,” Jon argued. 

“See, that’s what I mean,” Tommy said. He was actually smiling now. Not the easiest smile, but something.

“It’s waterproof, it hooks to your shorts when you run, you’ll really like it,” Jon said tiredly. “Maybe bigger, more important things just aren’t other people’s business.” 

They started walking to the parking lot. Tommy fell into step beside him. 

“Sorry about that back there,” he said quietly. “I was just surprised.”

“Honestly, don’t worry about it. I walk around in a constant state of surprise these days. I don’t remember what it feels like to not be surprised.”

“Congratulations.” Tommy grinned at him. “Man, that’s so wild.”

“Tell me about it.” Jon swallowed. “Thanks. For the congratulations.”

Tommy looked like he wanted to say more but instead stepped back to let Jon go through the revolving door first. Their arms brushed as Jon moved past.

Outside, he pushed his sunglasses down from his head onto his nose. Breathed in deep. Didn’t let himself think about anything in particular. It was the only way he was going to be able to survive this thing.

 

*

 

Favs chattered happily in the car to mostly monosyllabic replies from both Jon and Tommy. Jon was too busy panicking in the front seat, sure Tommy knew, he had to know, he used to deceive entire rooms full of reporters as a _job_ , he had to know Jon was lying to him.

Tommy brooded silently in the back, dumb giraffe legs folded nearly to his chest even though Jon had begged him to take the fucking front seat.

As Favs merged onto the freeway, talking about wedding planning, Tommy cut in.

“So how far along are you.”

Favs paused, deferring politely to Jon, who made a vague motion with his hand. “Just a few months.” He was well into his second trimester, but the less detail the better, he figured.

“Feels like years, from the complaining,” Favs chimed in merrily. 

Jon socked him in the arm. “Shut the fuck up, you ever carry a fetus before? No, you haven’t, so you don’t get to make judgments on my lifestyle.”

“Complaining has been your lifestyle long before you got pregnant, dude.”

He couldn’t really argue with that so he just smacked Favs on the arm again and crossed his own arms, pouting.

Tommy was undeterred by their bickering. He put his elbows on his knees, leaning between the front headrests. “So, the other dad.” Jon didn’t like the way he sounded. Too focused. It made his nerves ratchet higher. “Where the fuck is he at?” 

Jon suppressed a flinch by the skin of his teeth. Favs glanced at Tommy in the rearview.

“Um, he’s not really involved.”

“What?” Tommy made an outraged sound. “How is _that_ fair?”

Hissing a sigh, Jon shook his head. “Life’s not fair, big guy. Sorry to break it to you.”

Tommy mostly ignored him, and when Jon snuck a glance at him he saw Tommy’s color was high, brow furrowed and furious. “So you have to do this all on your own while some fucking irresponsible dickhead just gets to go on living his life?”

“It’s not really that simple,” Jon tried, but Tommy wasn’t having it.

“Who the fuck is it, Jon?” Tommy wasn’t afraid to demand the details from Jon. Jon was reminded again how lucky he’d been to only have to deal with Favs and Emily so far. They were cupcakes compared to Tommy.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Jon said stubbornly. 

“Is it Ronan's?” He said Ronan’s name with even more venom than he usually did. 

“No, christ. We’re broken up, anyway.”

That threw Tommy off his stride for a second. He sat back, surprised. “Wait, really? Since when?”

Jon threw his head against the headrest with a thunk. “Since a while ago, _god_ , that is also my business and not yours.”

“Lovett, this is insane, how are you letting this asshole just—”

Favs cut him off. “Don’t yell at him about it, Tommy.” He threw a sharp look over his shoulder.

Tommy sat back in a huff. “I’m not yelling at Lovett, I’m just fucking pissed off on his behalf.”

Jon curled up in his seat, wishing fervently that he was dead.

“He should still be here.” Tommy couldn’t seem to stop. Jon couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen him so enraged. “You shouldn’t have to do this alone. It’s fucked up that he’s not here with you.” 

Fuck, this was unbearable. “Tommy, stop,” he begged hoarsely. “Please.”

“Jon,” Tommy murmured into the sudden quiet of the car. "Christ. I’m sorry."

Jon had to bite back a shock of shrill, hysterical laughter at the absurdity of everything, fists clenched tight in his lap.

He felt like he was looking down at himself, watching himself perpetuate this horrible lie, and there was nothing he could do, like he was trapped behind a wall pounding on the glass, begging himself to just fucking _say_ something, undo this _now_ while he still had the chance.

But he couldn’t, and he didn’t, and he just sat there, silently, intentionally misleading his two best friends on easily the biggest secret of his entire life.

For his part, Favs was clenching the steering wheel. He hated fighting, and he hated when he friends fought, and Jon felt bad for making him uncomfortable.

Finally, Tommy huffed out a laugh. “Jesus, you guys have been busy. What else have you been keeping from me? Is Emily a Republican now? Is Lovett lobbying for Big Oil?”

Jon did his best to sound haughty. “Well, Tommy, I don’t know if you know this but babies are expensive. I have to start saving up my nest egg now. Not all of us are set to inherit a vast boat shoe fortune one day, and a working seersucker manufacturing plant in Virginia besides.”

“You have a really weird idea of what my family is,” Tommy said, sounding both exasperated and warm, a familiar blend that helped Jon’s chest slowly begin to loosen. “What even is seersucker?”

“It’s cotton with a striped pattern on the fabric,” Favs supplied, the know-it-all. 

Jon let his eyes drift closed, overwrought. He let Favs and Tommy’s low voices soothe him into a doze, not waking up until they pulled into the driveway.

“Lovett,” Tommy whispered. He put a warm hand on Jon’s shoulder and squeezed. “Hey, we’re here.”

Jon groaned and opened his eyes. Favs was getting out of the car, rolling his eyes tolerantly at Jon. Jon blinked up at Tommy, who had opened his door to peer down at him.

“You need a hand?”

His instinct was to get his back up at the offer but he still felt dumb from sleep and let Tommy pull him out of the car, stumbling a little until Tommy held both his elbows to steady him.

He smiled softly down at Jon. “You good?”

Jon nodded dumbly.

“I really am happy for you, you know. I’m sorry I was such a dick.” He looked intent, like there was nothing more important than Jon forgiving him for being human and having actual emotions. 

It made Jon irritable. “Stop it, it’s fine. You were just surprised.” 

He pulled away and started for the house, following Favs in so he could complain to Emily about his feet, which had started to swell halfway through the day and Emily was so far the most patient when it came to listening to Jon whine about how his body continued to betray him.

Tommy kept close to his side, and as they stepped onto the porch he felt Tommy press his hand lightly to the middle of Jon’s back, guiding him inside the house. 

He whipped his head around, prepared to bitch at him for treating Jon like a fucking heirloom, but when he looked at Tommy, Tommy was already staring back, something intent and inscrutable in his eye.

Spooked, Jon turned back around, hurrying so he stepped away from Tommy’s hand. He felt Tommy’s fingers stretch out, prolonging the contact, then fall away. 

Jon felt it for the rest of the night, even after he left Tommy at Favs and Emily's after dinner and went to his own house and bed. 

Pundit curled up beside him, wet nose snuffling into Jon’s neck.

“Pundit, I got us into quite a pickle here, huh,” he whispered, but the dog didn’t answer. She was already asleep, snoring peacefully. Typical.

It took Jon another two hours to doze off, dreaming about things dark and frightening that he wasn’t able to recall in the morning, just that they’d made his heart pound.

 

*

 

Having the gang back together was a revelation for their podcast prep. They recorded a few test pods and the chemistry on the show was electric, angry rants about amoral politicians and stupid fucking blowhards flying fast and furious. 

They recorded some videos, Jon sitting cross-legged and hunched over as much as he could, obscuring his belly in heavy sweatshirts. Hopefully, people would just think he was fat, as much as his ego wanted to scream that he had actually been on the verge of getting his groove back an accidental disaster baby took up residence in his womb.

Outside of recording and planning for the pod, things were a little weirder.

While he was in town, Tommy camped out at Favs’ and Emily’s in the guest room.

Inexplicably, when they weren’t working he still spent most of his time at Jon’s. 

“How long has this sink been draining slow?” He pointed over his shoulder at the sink in the bathroom.

Jon raised his eyebrows, looked over his shoulder where he sat sprawled on the couch, like maybe then he could find the person Tommy was talking to. When Tommy just waited patiently, Jon shrugged. “I don’t know, man, how long have I been living here? Year and a half?”

Tommy took that information in quietly. Jon figured that was the end of it until he went to the grocery store late and came back to find that Tommy had been industriously fixing things all over the house the entire time he’d been out.

“I’m a renter!” Jon yelled, maybe a little shrilly, but Tommy had his shirt off and tucked into the waistband of his shorts and he’d just hauled himself off the floor from where he’d been inspecting underneath the sink. “That’s the whole point, I don’t have to fix things! I call the landlord.” 

Never mind that his landlord was a shithead who had never once returned Jon’s messages about anything, ever. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Tommy insisted. His forehead and shoulders and naked chest were all gently glistening with sweat. It was the worst. “Go sit down. I’m almost done in here.” 

Jon narrowed his eyes. “I’m sitting down,” he said slowly, “because I _want_ to, not because you’re telling me to.” Also because his lower back was aching like a motherfucker lately and he’d felt dead on his feet all day.

Tommy smiled wryly. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, buddy. I’ll get started on dinner in a minute.”

And the unrelenting hellishness of the situation was: that’s exactly what happened. Tommy made Jon dinner, some joyless flavorless protein-filled monstrosity with balanced proportions of protein and carbs that Jon hated but nonetheless ate three helpings of and then whined about because he felt overly full.

“It was so bad,” he complained, letting his head fall back against his chair and folding his hands on his stomach, “and I ate so _much_ of it.” He rotated his head sluggishly to find Tommy watching him fondly. It made Jon feel prickly. “What? Stop making that face, you look weird.” 

Tommy snorted. “Christ, you’re a nightmare.” He got up and took his and Jon’s plates. “Go sit down and find a show that doesn’t suck while I finish up.” 

“I don’t need to always be sitting down,” Jon pointed out crossly, literally just to bicker, since he could feel his eyes drooping. “My legs still work. The baby’s not going to burst out of my body like an alien if I stay upright for too long.”

Ignoring Jon with the ease of long practice, Tommy turned on the sink. “Your back still hurting you?”

Like it knew it was being talked about, his back gave an unpleasant twang. “Yes,” he grumbled. “It’s fine though.”

Sighing, Tommy marched over and put his hands on Jon’s shoulders. With an abundance of moral fortitude, Jon didn’t shiver or lean into the touch, but he did let himself close his eyes, drinking it in.

Tommy hauled Jon out of his chair, ignoring Jon’s groan at being moved, which also helpfully disguised the way it made Jon’s stomach swoop to be so casually manhandled. He wasn’t a small guy, but Tommy moved him around like it was nothing.

“Just go, Lovett.” Tommy gave him a gentle shove toward the living room wher Pundit was already passed out on the couch.

“We’re not watching a single sports game,” Jon said warningly. “Nothing with a score. I’ll make a goddamn scene.”

Tommy sighed, long-suffering but grinning like he was having a good time being bossed around. Fuck, Jon didn’t understand a single thing about him sometimes.

“Whatever you want, Jon."

That would have been the perfect time for Jon to step in and say, “You don’t have to do this, Tommy.”

It had only been a week, but Jon was already becoming dangerously dependent on this.

He really needed to figure out how to say it soon, too, because it was becoming unbearable, being the recipient of the full-on Tommy Vietor Boyfriend Experience, which so far was attentive, supportive and engaged, like being slowly suffocated by a warm bath towel right of the dryer that also smelled like fresh-baked cookies. It was a lot to handle. 

He turned on an episode of 30 Rock he could recite from memory and sprawled on the couch, brooding.

“Would you sit like a normal person, you monster,” Tommy groused when he came into the living room, nudging aside Jon’s legs so he could squeeze into the corner of the couch. He thrust a bowl of ice cream at Jon, waiting until Jon grasped it with both hands to let go. Jon hadn’t realized that he’d even wanted ice cream, but now that it was in his hands he felt almost dizzy with how much he _needed_ to consume it, and how had Tommy known that? 

Tommy settled in beside him. He kept glancing at Jon out of the corner of his eye.“What,” Jon snapped. He ate a huge bite of ice cream and gritted his teeth through the brain freeze. He swatted at Tommy’s face. “Stop looking at me.” 

Slouching deeper into the couch, Tommy grinned. “Relax, maybe you just have ice cream all over your face." 

Jon rubbed at his mouth. “I do not. Dick.”

Casually, Tommy reached over and swiped at his chin. Jon smacked his hand away to cover any residual blushing. “Not anymore.”

They watched Jenna Maroney try to Grace Kelly herself for a few moments in silence while Jon tried to calm down, and then Tommy said, “Remember when we used to do this in DC?”

Jon tensed. Yeah, he remembered.

He remembered dozens of nights of curling up next to Tommy on their cheapass futon, both exhausted as Jon got stoned in front of the TV, making fun of the show and each other relentlessly, trying to make the other person laugh harder. He remembered making a joke of how Jon didn’t care about personal space so that was why he insisted on leaning into Tommy or throwing his legs over Tommy’s lap or resting his head on Tommy’s shoulder.

“Don’t be a homophobe,” he would scold preemptively if Tommy even rolled his eyes.

Tommy would huff, grinning even as he argued that it wasn’t homophobic to not want someone’s cold toes to dig into your thighs for warmth. 

“Sounds like something a homophobe would say,” Jon would sniff, and then quietly preen as Tommy threw his head back, laughing helplessly as Jon tucked himself more firmly into Tommy’s side.

“I mean, I know it’s been a while since we lived together,” Tommy was saying thoughtfully now. “I just. Think about it a lot, I guess. It was fun.”

Jon set his empty ice cream bowl on the coffee table. “I was easily the best roommate you or anyone has ever had, so that’s not surprising,” he said grandly.

That made Tommy bark out a laugh. “You never, once, in the entire time we lived together took out the garbage or emptied the dishwasher.”

“Never get too good at a job you don’t want to do, Tommy.”

It was easy to fall into the same rhythm. It was so comfortable, and it made it easier to forget that less than a foot to Tommy’s right a horribly destructive secret was gestating in Jon’s cursèd womb.

The longer they sat, the more Jon’s traitorous body let itself go lax, creeping slowly into Tommy’s space. Tommy made a point of giving him an unimpressed look but didn’t move as Jon shoved his toes under Tommy’s thighs. 

Tommy was just really warm, and Jon’s circulation had always been bad. It wasn’t a big deal.

The next 30 Rock episode cued up automatically, and Tommy made a small, thoughtful sound.

“It’s funny,” he said slowly, picking each word carefully like he was tiptoeing around a live bomb, “when I first hugged you at the airport, and like—felt your stomach, you know. And realized what it meant. The first thing I thought of was.” He laughed self-consciously. “I thought of that night when you came up to visit in the spring. I thought, you know. Maybe it was from that.”

Jon kept his eyes stubbornly on the TV. He refused to look at Tommy. They had never talked about that night, not ever, not once, and why Tommy thought it was cool to just bring it up with no warning when Jon didn't even have socks on was a mystery.

“Yeah, you really dodged a bullet there, huh?” he said evenly. He refused to glance over and catch Tommy's reaction to that, either.

He felt Tommy staring at him for an endless moment. Jon felt out of control, like any second he’d whip around and blurt everything out rather than keep feeling this unrelenting pressure of lying.

He put a hand on his belly, rubbing a thumb mindlessly over the ridge. “I don’t know why I can’t feel it moving yet,” he pivoted, desperately.

Tommy cleared his throat. “Yeah?” He leaned closer. “When are you supposed to?” 

“I have no idea. The doctor said it could be up to twenty-five weeks.”

“And how many weeks along are you again?”

Jon shrugged a shoulder. “Not twenty-five weeks yet. I don’t know, second trimester.” He was a damn math major, pretending he couldn’t count probably wasn’t selling this whole thing like he could be. “My doctor keeps saying it should be easier now, but it hasn’t been too hard yet to begin with. It makes me nervous. What if I go in for my next appointment and they’re like, ‘hey, sorry for the mistake, there’s not a baby in here, it’s just a burrito.’”

“A beautiful, healthy burrito,” Tommy said.

“Hope it ends up being a gay burrito.”

“Fingers crossed.” Tommy laid a tentative hand on Jon’s ankle. “It must be pretty nerve-wracking. Doing this alone.”

“Well, the thing about being pregnant is, you’re never truly alone. It's like a tape worm.” Jon sighed. It was a shitty joke. “Favs and Emily have been really great. You’ve been—it’s been nice having you here, too. Guess I gotta drink it in before you head back up to Berkeley or wherever the fuck you live now.”

“You know where I live.” He felt Tommy’s hand tighten on his ankle, then relax. He didn’t take it away and Jon carefully didn’t shift or move his ankle in any way.

They watched TV for a while longer until Jon drifted off, only rousing when he heard the door click shut and Pundit’s nails clicking on the ground, Tommy talking softly to her.

“You want to go wake up your dad? Okay, let’s go.”

Jon kept his eyes closed until he heard Tommy kneel beside him, touching his shoulder. “Lovett, time for bed.”

He blinked his eyes open slowly. Tommy’s face was really close. He had these tiny wrinkles by his eyes that Jon wanted to touch. He refrained.

“Why’d you let me fall asleep on the couch, you filthy enabler,” he mumbled, smiling a little when Tommy laughed. 

“Come on, up.” Tommy hauled him to his feet, hands gentle, guiding him up until Jon felt stable enough to stumble toward his own bedroom. Before he could, Tommy reeled him in for a hug.

“Why are you being weird,” Jon said, muffled into Tommy’s shoulder. He wanted to go stiff but he was still pretty lax from his couch nap, pressing his face to the soft fabric of his shirt. 

“I’m just really happy for you,” Tommy said. He rubbed slow circles on Jon’s back. “And proud. You’re being really brave.”

Jon groaned. “Ugh, shut up.” He could feel Tommy chuckle from his ear pressed to Tommy’s chest. It was awful.

Finally, Tommy released him. “You mind if I sleep on the couch?”

“You have a bed at Jon and Emily’s.” 

Tommy stepped back, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. “I know, it’s just—it’s late. Don’t want to bother them. And just in case you need something in the middle of the night.”

“That’s so stupid, I’m fine. I don’t need a live-in nanny dog, Tommy Vietor.”

But when Tommy didn’t look convinced, Jon relented. What was he going to do, bodily shove him out the door? Jon was tired and his back was sore, and Tommy looked so good, hopeful and rumpled in the dim light of Jon’s living room. 

“You’re taking Pundit out in the morning,” he declared crankily. "Probably for a run. She's getting chunky, and that's kind of my thing these days. Can't have her stealing focus."

Tommy laughed. "You're the boss." He looked relieved. He was so stupid. Jon turned away abruptly, calling out, “If you wake me up before seven I’ll fucking murder you,” and let the sound of Tommy’s laughter carry him into his own bedroom, Pundit at his heels. 

Once he slipped into bed, he braced himself to toss around for a few hours, struggling to sleep knowing Tommy was just a few rooms away. 

Instead, he dropped off after a few minutes, sleeping hard with no dreams he could remember in the morning. Which was just typical, really.

 

*

 

It took two weeks for Jon to notice that Tommy didn’t seem to have any concrete plans to return to San Francisco.

It took him another week to work up the courage to ask him about it, one evening when they were sitting on the couch, Jon’s feet in Tommy’s lap, Tommy absently rubbing the knob on his ankle and the tense pad of his foot until Jon was loose-limbed and so warm and willing himself not to get a boner. 

That had been happening more and more. The boner thing, obviously, but the casual way Tommy would scoop up Jon's feet or drape an arm around his shoulders or sit closer than he needed to so Jon could lean against him. It was impossible to resist, really. Jon was only a man.

“When are you going back home?” he heard himself ask muzzily. 

The hand tracing along the arch of his foot stopped. Tommy wrapped a hand around Jon’s foot and turned to look at him.

Jon propped himself up on his elbows, blinking rapidly, trying to look alive. 

“I’m not going back to San Francisco.”

Of all the possible answers, Jon hadn’t even considered that one.

“What?” He made a face, groggy. “What are you talking about?”

Tommy said, unwaveringly, “I’m staying here, with you.” He glanced away, a ruddy blush appearing on his cheeks and neck. “And with Pundit. Favs and Emily and Leo.” 

"Well, obviously more Pundit than Leo. She's the better goldendoodle. Wait." Jon couldn’t stop shaking his head. “You can’t just move here.” This was crazy talk. He suddenly needed to not be on his back for this. He waved a hand in Tommy’s face. “Help me up.”

Tommy immediately shifted to pull him upright, holding his arm until Jon shoved a pillow behind him and settled comfortably into the couch. Even then he didn’t move far, keeping an arm looped over the couch back just behind Jon’s head.

He was smirking a little. “Why can’t I just move here? You did.”

Why was he being so difficult, is what Jon wanted to know. “You have a whole life in San Francisco!" He scrounged for what exactly a whole life entailed. All he could come up with was, "You have an apartment!" 

Tommy rolled his eyes. “I can sublet the apartment, it’s not a big deal. And it’s not practical for me to be all the way up there when the company’s going to be based here. You and Favs have been telling me that for forever, anyway.” Tommy voice was carefully light. “Felt like time to make the leap, you know?” 

Jon had to swallow so he wouldn’t make some kind of embarrassing sound. His blood was rushing in his ears.

“What about being so happy in San Francisco?” he challenged. “What about Hanna?”

Finally, Tommy’s calm broke slightly. He glanced down. “Hanna and I broke up a month ago. Just before I came down, really.”

That killed some of Jon's verbal momentum. “What, really? Why?”

Tommy wasn’t really meeting his eye. “A lot of reasons. We weren’t really seeing eye-to-eye on a lot of things. I wanted something different. It was time.”

Jon couldn’t possibly imagine what he wanted that Hanna couldn’t possibly give him, and by contrast, what Jon could even hope to offer in exchange that was any better.

He grabbed Tommy’s free hand with both of his, feeling frantic with the need to make Tommy just _be_ _reasonable_ , here. “I know what you're doing, Tommy, and you can’t let me ruin everything for you. I don’t need you to do this for me.” Jon knew Tommy’s identity and self-worth and sense of purpose was tied up in his ability to give himself over to a cause, but Jon also knew he had a tendency to go fucking overboard with it until he was miserable, and now he was about to do it _again_ just because Jon and his disaster baby had cannonballed through his entire life—

Tommy carefully pulled his hand from Jon’s clammy grip and took Jon by the shoulders. “Hey.” When Jon looked up at him, feeling pitiful, Tommy’s entire face was so open and warm it made Jon look away again. “This is my call. I want to do this.” 

Jon had no idea how he could possibly ever trust that Tommy really meant that. 

He must have had a worrying expression on his face, because Tommy leaned back, saying sincerely, “If you don’t want me to stay with you, that’s fine. I can stay with Favs until I find my own place.”

Jon’s mood swung abruptly from bleak hopelessness to irritation, sudden and terrifying, like all things in his pregnancy so far.

“God, Tommy, shut up,” he snapped. “You’re practically living here already, that doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

He was so annoyed, suddenly. Fucking Tommy, insinuating himself into Jon’s life like a goddamn mole until Jon couldn’t imagine doing any of this without him there to snipe at Jon not to drink diet coke anymore or magically divining when Jon needed mystery craving ice cream and rubbing Jon’s feet and basically making Jon completely dependent on him. It was bullshit. 

Tommy was watching him warily, eyebrows raised. “Okay,” he said slowly. “I’ll stay here, then.”

“Fine. Fantastic.”

“What’s the matter with you?” 

Something like panic was crawling up Jon’s throat. He threw his hands in the air. “Nothing! I’m so great. Everything is going really great.” He started backing away. “I have to go now, though.” 

Tommy said, "Jon, come on," but Jon did not. He fled like the cowardly rat he was, slowly, belly bearing ahead of him, unavoidable, leaving Tommy behind him in the living room. 

 

*

 

Because he only had flipflops on, he didn't flee that far. Also, his back hurt. He escaped as far as Favs'. Emily let him in.

“Where’s your shadow at?” she asked, peering over his shoulder like she expected Tommy to pop out of the shrubs.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” he muttered. “Can I just come in? Is Favs here?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yes,” she said, dragging it out. “In the back, he’s doing sponsor stuff.” She caught his arm as he walked past. "You okay?" She nodded at his belly. "All quiet on the western front?"

"Yes, you nerd," he said, and carefully pulled his arm away. He loved Emily, but right now he needed Favs' particularly bland level-headedness to see him through.

He found him tucked into the couch in the study, scrolling through something on his computer.

“Stop doing that, pay attention to me,” Jon said as he bustled in.

Favs held up a finger without looking up. He finished what he was doing, disregarding Jon’s dramatic, impatient sigh, and looked up. “What’s up?”

Jon was clasping his belly, he realized. He’d started doing that when he was stressed. The movement drew Favs’ eye, and when he looked back up he seemed worried. “Everything okay with the baby?”

Jon shook his head and blurted out, “Tommy says he’s not going back to San Francisco.” 

Favs at least raised his eyebrows. “Like, ever? Is there a hit out on him?” 

“No—he said.” There was no way Jon could get through this straight to Favs’ patient, gentle face. He turned to mess around with the pretentious books lining the shelves and gritted out, “He said he wants to. Stay here, in LA. With. Well, with us.”

“With us,” Favs repeated skeptically. 

When Jon glanced up, Favs was smirking. “What? Stop doing that with your face, you look ridiculous.” 

Favs laughed. “No, it’s just—I mean, I expected Tommy to move down in a few months, but I knew he was still tying stuff up there. The only reason he’d move up that timeline would be—well.” He looked pointedly at Jon’s stomach, which made Jon clutch at it a little defensively. “He’s not coming down here for me, man, you gotta know that, at least.”

Jon didn’t know that, not really. He didn’t know why Tommy had appointed himself as Jon’s faithful stooge. He didn’t know what any of it meant. 

He pivoted with, “Did you know him and Hanna split up?”

Favs nodded. “He told me about it a month ago.”

“And you didn’t think to fill me in?”

“I figured he already told you. You guys text all the time, you usually know Tommy gossip before I do.”

Favs shrugged easily and Jon leaned against the wall. If he was very still, he almost thought he could feel the baby moving. “I just don’t want him to rush into anything.”

The look on Favs’ face was horribly fond. “He’s a grown adult, Lovett. If he says it’s what he wants, then it’s what he wants.” Gently, he added, “You have to trust people to know their own minds sometimes, Jon.”

Favs was watching him carefully like he wanted to say something else, but then he stood up and came to clap Jon on the shoulder. “Where is he, anyway? You guys are attached at the hip anymore.”

“That’s what Emily said,” Jon groused, “and it’s _not_ true.”

He ignored Favs’ scoff and followed him into the kitchen.

Tommy didn’t come over, and Jon had left his phone at his house so he didn’t know if he’d been texting. He watched Favs and Emily drink a glass of wine and pretended that he was as tipsy as they were. When they started curling into each other, Favs running his fingers suggestively down Emily’s arm, Jon stood up sharply.

“Well, that’s my cue, I guess.”

Favs watched him leave. “I guess it is. Tell Tommy we said hey.”

Jon turned his nose up. “I’m not your messenger.”

Favs' laughter followed him out the door and onto the lawn as Jon rubbed at his arms, the growing shadows chilly as he tromped over to his own house. He could see lights on inside. His breath picked up.

Inside he could hear Tommy rummaging in the kitchen. It smelled good, deceptively so, because Jon knew whatever he was smelling would inevitably reveal its betrayal as a well-balanced unprocessed superfood.

He tugged at the edge of his shirt, shuffling nervously.

Fuck, it would be so much easier if Tommy would stalk out here and fight with him.

Jon wandered in to lean uncomfortably against the counter, Tommy obviously hearing him walk in as Pundit got to her feet and trotted over but refusing to turn around.

“Hey,” Jon said softly.

Tommy put down the pot he was filling with water and gripped the counter, taking a deep breath, shoulders flexing. 

He turned around with his jaw set. He eyed Jon, wary. 

“Are we allowed to talk now, or are you going to run away again?” he asked sourly.

Jon flushed. “I didn’t run away,” he argued, ignoring Tommy’s groan, “I just went to ask Favs about something for the podcast, he’s next fucking door. That’s hardly running away.”

Running his hands over his face, Tommy took a jerky step forward. “Just—you always do that. You just fuck off.”

“When do I ever just fuck off?” Jon demanded, outraged, although he could personally think of seven separate examples of the top of his head without even trying that hard. It was about dignity, though. He didn’t have to stand there and take this without a fight. 

“What about in May?” Tommy looked surprised at himself, his eyes going wide, and crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly to compensate. “What about then?” Jon looked away. Tommy took another step closer, vibrating with indignation. “What about then, Jon?”

Jon hunched over his belly, feeling the need to shield himself from Tommy, from his justified outrage. From the memory of the morning after. 

When Jon had left that morning, he’d gotten a bewildered text from Tommy asking if he had gone to get coffee.

 _no, turns out I got my flight time mixed up and realized I was running late._ Then, as an afterthought, _sorry_. 

He’d sent Tommy his flight info. Tommy knew when his flight was. He knew Jon was lying. 

 _okay_? Tommy sent back after a few minutes. _well, safe flight. text me when you get in._

 _k._ EvenJon had winced at himself. He was such a fucking asshole. It was on the tip of his tongue to soften it. Say he’d had a good time. He had, really. He’d had such a good fucking time. It was a great weekend, following Tommy around and mocking his neighborhood and making him laugh, loud and deep in his throat. Fucking for hours.

But he couldn’t say it first. He just couldn’t. 

He’d waited for Tommy to take the leap, like he always did— _I had a good time_ , Tommy would say maybe. Or _I’m so glad you came to see me._ Even _, reschedule your flight and stay a few more days._ Anything. 

But he didn’t. Jon’s stupid fucking ‘k’ had hung there, mocking him, until he’d shoved his phone away and went to get a drink at the bar, without the slightest inclination that at that very moment, something life-shattering was taking place inside of him and he wouldn’t figure it out for another two months and change.

“I woke up after having sex with you all night, and I thought it meant something to you, too—and you were just gone.” Tommy bit his lip. “You left and pretended like nothing had ever happened.”

Jon couldn’t help but push back, even as he reeled at the idea of it meaning something to Tommy, _too_.

“You never wanted to talk about it, either, Tommy.” _I knew you would hate me for tricking you into fucking a guy and I always knew you were going to go back to your beautiful girlfriend anyway and also I've been mostly in love with you since we lived together anyway, so I was always in more danger than you were,_ he thought furiously, but didn't say.

“I didn’t want to freak you out anymore!” Tommy burst out. Jon flinched and Tommy took a deep breath, voice quieter when he said, “And it doesn’t matter now, anyway. It’s in the past.” His gaze slid away, oddly skittish.

Even though Jon knew he’d been in the wrong, and he continued to be in the wrong, the unrepentant asshole inside wouldn’t let it lie. “If I’m so fucking terrible then why do you want to stay?” he demanded, voice rising until he was nearly shouting.

Tommy’s hands clenched in the air like he was strangling something invisible. He glared at Jon, frustration stamped across every line of his face. “I want to be around to _help_ you, Jon. Is that so fucking outrageous? We’re best friends—” 

“—you're  _one_ of my best friends—”

“—and I can’t imagine what you’re going through, and I want to be here for you. And it’s my decision, so shut up about it,” he ended, cutting Jon off so sharply Jon’s mouth hung open, startled, Tommy’s shoulders hunched, his entire face pink.

“Fuck,” Jon breathed. 

The silence in the kitchen overextended infinitely save for the clicking of the oven. Jon’s fingers flexed restlessly at his side.

And then Jon was diving for him, immediately rebuffed by his own belly, bouncing off of Tommy’s trim stomach like a beach ball.

“Whoa, shit,” Tommy barked out a laugh in surprise, catching him. “You okay?” 

“Just fucking kiss me already, jesus _christ_ ,” Jon hissed, grabbing Tommy by the ears and yanking him down. 

Kissing Tommy again felt so good. Jon made an embarrassing sound, grappling closer so he could pull Tommy down to a more manageable height, Jon on his tiptoes, pressing closer, licking inside, needing to get more—

“Jon,” Tommy murmured against his lips. He looped his arms tight around Jon’s lower back, holding him securely to Tommy’s front, belly big between them. He let Jon devour him, sucking on Jon’s tongue but mostly letting Jon drive. It made Jon insane. He pulled at Tommy’s hair, yanking his head to the side, and Tommy hissed, Jon feeling Tommy's cock starting to stiffen where it was tucked against the underside of Jon’s belly. It made Jon go hot, not entirely in arousal, the thought of Tommy’s erection pressing against his pregnant belly making him squirm.

Still kissing him, Tommy started walking backward, catching a hand on the wall so he could lean Jon back against the doorjamb and kiss him even harder.

Jon finally pulled his head back, panting desperately, as Tommy started kissing down his neck. Jon was making so much noise. He couldn’t stop. He kept one hand tight in Tommy’s hair, holding him in place when he licked and bit at a particularly sensitive spot just under his jaw.

“Fuck, Tommy,” he moaned. He couldn’t believe this was happening. He groped for Tommy’s ass with his free hand, squeezing hard at the muscle, loving how it made Tommy jerk back and then into it.

“Jon,” Tommy said urgently against his neck, tickling. “Jon, can we go to bed?”

Jon nodded wildly. “Yeah, fuck. Yeah.”

They stumbled into the bedroom, Pundit barking until Tommy broke reluctantly away to quietly shoo her out of the room, closing the door.

Jon sat on the bed, winded, shyness creeping over him as Tommy stared at him from the doorway, eyes hooded, mouth slightly open, breathing audibly. 

“Get naked,” Tommy said softly. 

Jon’s dick gave a sudden, terrible throb. He made a strangled sound in his throat. “Don’t tell me what to do,” he muttered. 

Tommy laughed, the sound dark, and began stalking slowly toward him. He yanked his shirt carelessly over his head and threw it to the side, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants in a sharp motion until he was standing half-naked in front of Jon where he sat on the bed.

“Do it,” Tommy urged. He cupped Jon’s head with his hands and tilted his chin up.

Awkwardly shimmyingout of his sweatpants, Jon tugged at the neck of his shirt, skin hot. It got caught around his shoulder and Tommy helped ease it off his body. At Tommy’s raised eyebrow, he rolled his eyes and squirmed out of his boxers as well, kicking them to the floor until he was naked on the bed. 

He resisted throwing his arms up as shields to cover his body and glared defiantly up at Tommy instead.

Tommy hardly seemed to notice. He looked fascinated, eyes tracing jealously over the shape of Jon’s body in the semi-dark.

He eased Jon back onto the bed, shuffling him back until he was sitting up against the pillows. “Stay off your back,” he commanded in a low voice. 

“I don’t think ten minutes of fucking on my back is going to send me into premature labor.”

Tommy crawled until he was braced above Jon, face red as he gazed down at him. He smirked. “Ten minutes, huh?”

“Karma hates a showboat, Vietor.”

Shaking his head affectionately, Tommy went down on an elbow to cup Jon’s face and kiss him again, both of them getting lost in it. 

Jon had been jerking off a lot more recently, which he was given to understand was normal at this stage in his pregnancy, but having Tommy’s warm body pressing him into the bed was like nothing he'd ever felt before.

He hated how solid and firm Tommy felt and how round and soft everything about Jon was quickly becoming in comparison, but he couldn’t stop yanking him closer.

Fuck, Jon was hard. Every time his cock rubbed against Tommy’s hip he hissed until he was thrusting up into, any hope for a sexy rhythm forgotten with his brain so foggy with want.

Tommy’s hands were everywhere, tracing up and down Jon’s chest, over the slope of his belly. Jon wasn’t sure he loved that but he did like when Tommy’s hand dipped lower as he kneed apart Jon’s legs. Jon arched his back as best he could, mouth wide as he moaned when Tommy brushed at his asshole. 

“Fuck, just—let’s pick up the pace, Tommy. Close the deal.” 

He expected Tommy to bitch back at him but when Jon looked, Tommy swallowed back a gasp. He nodded. “Yeah.” He pushed Jon onto his side with a hand to his hip. "One minute.”

Jon grabbed at his cock, jacking it clumsily, his stupid belly getting in the way, watching Tommy clamber around in the bedside table for the lube. 

“Just get on me,” Jon breathed out impatiently.

Tommy muttered, “Shit,” and scrambled back, kicking off his jeans in a hurried clumsy movement that made Jon's chest ache, yanking his boxer-briefs halfway down so his cock sprang forth as he pulled Jon to his chest. 

He nudged Jon’s hand out of the way, getting some lube on his hand and taking over jerking Jon off. “Is that good?” he muttered, biting at Jon’s neck. Jon could only pant in response but Tommy seemed to take that as a good sign, as he fucking should. He twisted his wrist around the head, biting harder when Jon made a sound. “You feel fucking amazing.” 

He snugged up tight to Jon’s back, reaching to bend Jon’s knee and bring it up. “Is that okay?” he whispered, kissing compulsively at Jon’s neck. “Not too much?” 

Jon felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest. “No, it’s fine,” he whispered back, like they were in church, if people fucked in churches, Jon had no idea, he was a jew.

Tommy slotted his cock between Jon’s thighs, making Jon gasp when he thrust experimentally, nudging at Jon's balls.

They got off like that, sweating all over each other, Jon feeling cumbersome and unsexy but unable to truly care with Tommy pushing between his thighs, against his balls, hand keeping up the unrelenting pace on Jon’s cock, leaving Jon without much to do but try to keep his left knee bent, and even that he didn’t do very well.

Instead, he threw his hand back blindly, needing to grab something. He got a handful of Tommy’s hair, pulling. It made Tommy groan, biting suddenly at Jon’s neck. He came first, come wet and slipping between Jon’s thighs. Jon whined and Tommy shushed him, adjusting so he could swipe some of the come and rub gently at Jon’s asshole with one hand and keep kept stripping his cock with the other until Jon’s body went stiff, orgasm rushing through him like a goddamn lightning strike. 

“Fuck,” he said thinly. His skin was tingling, almost too sensitive to have Tommy still slumped over his back. “Fuck.”

He could hear Tommy panting, and felt when he finally dragged himself back to flop onto the bed.

They gasped like a couple of fish for a while until their breath quieted, and Jon was abruptly exhausted. 

He blinked, and Tommy was back with a washcloth. He blinked longer, and Tommy was in bed again, curling tight around Jon’s back. He kept pressing kisses onto the back of Jon’s neck.

“You’re too hot,” Jon groused, but didn’t push him away. He was falling asleep even as he spoke. 

Tommy just chuckled.

“Laugh it up,” Jon mumbled. He grabbed Tommy’s hand on the top of his belly, holding it there.

"You going to be here in the morning?" Tommy asked into the quiet. His words were teasing, but he sounded watchful.

Jon squeezed his hand. "Yes. I live here, anyway. If anything, you should be the one to sneak out. It's just common courtesy."

Tommy chuckled. "I won't." He sounded so sure.

Jon felt tremulously happy. It felt dangerous.

If he wasn’t so fucking beat, he’d probably stay awake and have an anxiety attack about it, because he had no business being happy when he still hadn't fucking told Tommy the truth, and he could feel Tommy smiling against his neck as he snuggled in.

As it was, Jon let his eyes finally close all the way and was out like a light in an instant.

 

*

 

Jon woke up to Tommy watching him from the other pillow. It made Jon jerk, startled, taking a moment to remember what had happened, the night before, and then he flushed and pressed his face into the pillow to hide for a minute. 

The pillow was wet with his own drool. He was probably snoring, too. He peeked up at Tommy, looking bright-eyed and rumpled and so blindingly handsome Jon felt hot and uncomfortable just looking at him.

“I have never felt less sexy in my entire life,” Jon admitted.

Tommy smooshed his face into the pillow, shrugging one shoulder, smiling goofily. “You look alright to me,” he said mildly. He shifted his hips forward, cock rubbing Jon’s hip, hard and fucking tempting. He was staring at Jon's mouth.

Jon was torn, but he also had to pee and he was fucking starving. “Later,” he promised, poking Tommy in his naked chest. It turned into more of a stroke. “First, you gotta feed me before my stomach eats itself.” 

Tommy rolled his eyes but got up easily, helping Jon stand, eyeing him appreciatively even as Jon hurried to throw on his clothes. Tommy pulled on his sweats, no shirt, taking every opportunity to touch Jon on the shoulder, his hip. He couldn’t seem to stop smiling.

They brushed their teeth and went to the kitchen so Tommy could make eggs and Jon let Pundit out.

Outside of the protective cocoon of bed, they circled each other, the guilt starting to feel suffocating on Jon’s end, Tommy a little jumpy.

After they ate, Jon stood to bring the dishes to the sink but Tommy grabbed him by the wrist. “Wait.” He stared at Jon’s hand, then blinked up at him. “I need to—I just need to tell you something. Can you wait a second?”

Jon clattered onto his chair, heartbeat picking up immediately. Shit. Dread overtook guilt for a brief second, but not by much. 

Tommy smiled tightly at him. He looked nervous. Taking a deep breath, he said, “I love you.” 

Jon looked back at him, nonplussed. Of all the fucking things. “What?”

Tommy kept his eyes on Jon, determined and terrified all at once. God, he was so fucking brave. He was so much braver than Jon. Jon was worse than a worm, and here was Tommy, laying his heart out for the world to see.

He pressed on, Jon too shocked to do anything but listen in anguish.

“I know you probably don’t feel the same way and that’s fine, you have so much going on right now, but I just needed to tell you. It's the main reason I'm not going back to San Francisco, actually. I should have been more upfront with that. And I guess I just—needed you to know.” 

A wave of agony roiled from the pit of Jon’s stomach up to his throat, choking him. He breathed through it. Brought himself back down to normal, temporarily, with extreme effort.

“Goddamnit,” Jon bit out. This was such Classic Tommy he wanted to lean over and bite him. 

Tommy faltered, laughing nervously. “I’m sorry?” 

Jon covered his face with his hands. He couldn’t look at his horribly earnest face right now.

“I know my timing isn’t great, and I know I’m probably not your first choice for raising this kid with—I mean, you’d probably prefer the actual dad, and that would probably make more sense—but I’m here, and I want to do this. I want to do this with you.”

It was unbearable, watching Tommy staring earnestly into his eyes, jaw set, serious and committed.

Jon really was a monster.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Fuck, this was going to suck.

“It’s yours. You’re the other dad. It’s your baby.” It didn't even sound like his voice saying it. He felt like he was floating on the ceiling, watching a horrible person break some kind, decent guy's heart.

The silence in the aftermath was brutal.

Finally, unable to take not knowing if Tommy was going to up and leave (fair), or reach over and end Jon’s life with a swift snap of his neck (still understandable), Jon squinted his eyes open to peek.

Tommy’s mouth was hanging open. He was ashen. It looked like it was hard for him to grit out a single word. 

Finally, he swallowed with effort. 

“ _Lovett_ ,” he bit out, completely aghast. “How _could_ you—” He was quickly moving to angry, voice low, so controlled it was scary. It scared Jon. He was terrified.

He hopped off the chair with a speed he had previously believed lost to the sands of time before his first trimester and was out of the house before he’d even realized he was moving.

He heard Tommy yell something after him. There was a commotion like Tommy was scrambling to his feet after him but Jon couldn’t slow down. He barely had a head start and he couldn’t really run anymore but he was speed walking like fucking hell, just blindly fleeing, no destination in mind. He didn’t even have shoes on. The hard pavement was already making his feet ache as he hit the sidewalk.

After a truly pitifully short window of time, he felt a hand grab him hard by the upper arm and pull him back, jerking him to a start so that he stumbled backward into a strong chest, another hand coming around to clamp down on his chest, holding him still.

If his assailant didn’t smell so fucking _good_ Jon would have been sure he was about to be mugged. 

He froze, trembling, as Tommy adjusted his grip, turning Jon slowly around until they were facing each other, Jon staring blindly at Tommy’s chest. After a beat, he forced himself to look up at Tommy’s face. 

He felt like a rabbit, caught and cornered and waiting to get eaten. He longed for fucking death, frankly. Nothing could be worse than seeing Tommy looming over him all dark and upset and fucking _hurt_ , and know it was all because of Jon. 

As Tommy stared down at him with hooded eyes, Jon stayed frozen and petrified. Jon sniffed, hard. Eventually, something in Tommy’s face softened.

“Jesus, Lovett.” He let go of his mugger’s grip on Jon’s body and reached up to palm at his cheeks instead. They were wet, Jon realized. He was crying. It was frightening, to feel so far removed from his own body that he hadn’t noticed. He was too panicked to do anything but stand there as Tommy mopped at the tears on his cheeks. His hands felt so big and Jon just wanted to collapse into him. Let Tommy hold his weight up. Even now, after everything, he knew that the would. 

“Jon. Come on back inside.” 

“Are you going to keep yelling at me?” Jon sounded hoarse like he always did after he’d been crying. That was not the first thing he should have asked, probably, but it felt like the most important thing at the moment. 

The corner of Tommy’s mouth quirked, reluctantly. “Not right now, probably. Maybe later.”

“That’s fair.” Jon deserved it, he knew, and probably worse, but just because he knew it was justified didn’t mean he had to walk willfully to his doom.

They wandered back to the house, Jon deeply grateful Favs wasn’t looking out his window. Tommy was tense at his side but he still led him back into the kitchen, hovering as Jon settled in the seat. 

Tommy leaned against the counter, arms crossed, and watched him.

“I’m so sorry,” Jon said miserably. “I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t know—I just. When I found out, I tried to tell you, and I couldn’t—I couldn’t get the fucking words out.” Jesus that was a weak excuse. Jon closed his eyes, forcing himself to continue. “You said you were happy in San Francisco, and I wanted you to be happy and I didn’t want to force this on you.”

Tommy still wasn’t speaking, and Jon kept babbling, throwing more words into the void. “You should hate me. It’s okay if you hate me.”

“Does Favs know?” Tommy finally asked. It was impossible to read anything from his voice. It was perfectly neutral. His NSC voice.

Jon shook his head, rubbing at the tears still streaking steadily down his cheeks. “No one knows. I didn’t know how to tell anyone.”

When Tommy didn’t seem to have anything to add, Jon opened his eyes. Tommy was watching him, unreadable as ever. Jon coughed, his whole head feeling clogged. He wished he could hug his knees to his chest, make himself smaller. He settled for hunching his back as much as he could. “I won’t keep you from the baby. You can be as involved as you want. I won’t get in the way.”

“Okay,” Tommy said slowly.He dipped his face down so Jon mostly had a view of his forehead and his weird invisible eyebrows.Exhaled, like he was bracing himself. He looked up from under his pale lashes. “So what about you?”

Jon rubbed irritably at his nose. “What _about_ me?”

“Can I still have you?” 

Like a rain cloud overflowing, Jon burst into tears again, sobs coming fast and loud. Fucking _fuck_ pregnancy hormones, fucking christ.

“Whoa,” Tommy said, alarmed. He hurried forward, hauling Jon to his chest without ceremony. “Jon, sh, it’s okay. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, you’re okay.”

It was just mindless comforting chatter but it still made Jon flinch, jerking away. Why in the fuck was Tommy sorry? He should never be sorry, about anything. 

“How can you stand to be near me still?” Jon demanded hoarsely, crying dying down but as best his words still jumping all over the place. “You should never want to see me again.” 

At that, Tommy did look angry, finally. At least that made sense, contextually.

Pushing Jon back by the shoulders so they could look at each other, Tommy shook his head. “What, so I’m supposed to just cut you out of my life now? Just, make some kind of moral stand and disown you?” Tommy’s mouth curved, exhausted. “None of those options gets me you.”

Against his will, Jon snorted. He coughed a bit, clearing his throat. “Fuck, you and your obsession with The Notebook, I swear to god. You have a problem.” He’d caught Tommy watching it endlessly immediately after his breakup with Katie, and then regularly afterward until it was obvious Tommy just...liked it. Unironically.

Tommy sighed, put upon. “Movies don’t become cultural touchstones by accident, Lovett,” he recited stubbornly. “They have to resonate with a core emotional truth in society. We’ve been over this.” 

For a second, as Tommy pursed his lips, it was like they were back at their apartment in DC, one of a million well-worn debates sprouting effortlessly between them.

“You sap.” Jon’s voice was watery.

Tommy's face went strained, to high points of color on his cheeks. He clasped Jon's hands tightly like they were sealing a solemn bond. Pleading, almost. “You can’t ever lie to me like that again. You have to promise me, Jon.” 

Jon laughed again, honestly couldn’t help it, the sound sharp and grim. “How can you ever trust a word I say? So what if I promise, I’ll probably just do it again because I’m a shitty person.”

Tommy looked helpless and young, suddenly. More than he did usually. Jon wanted to hug his head to his chest, never let him go. He also wanted to run away again.

He watched Tommy chuckle thinly, seemingly at himself, voice rough. “I guess I’m just a fucking idiot.” He rubbed at his wet eyes. “A fucking moron who sticks around even when it makes me look like an asshole, because I’m stubborn and stupid about the people I love.” He took Jon’s hands carefully in his big palms. He met Jon’s gaze, his light eyes shining. “And I’m your idiot, now.”

The moment stretched out long and tenuous, until Jon realized, in disbelief, that Tommy was nervous. That he was, astonishingly, waiting for _Jon_ to choose _him_. Like he’d ever stood a chance of choosing anyone else. Like he hadn’t been fucked since the second he’d walked in on Tommy practicing for a press briefing and watched Tommy roll his eyes with good-natured disdain.

“Goddamnit, Tommy,” Jon hissed out breathlessly. He thunked his head onto Tommy’s shoulder. Breathed out heavily. His whole body felt limp.

He felt Tommy press a shaky kiss to the crown of his head. “Now can we just go and hang out and watch TV on the couch like normal people on a Sunday, you fucking drama queen? Or do you have any other unbearable revelations to share with the class?”

Jon chortled wetly, truly exhausted. “No. I’m all set.”

On the couch, Jon drew Tommy to him. Cautiously, he arranged them so Tommy was draped along his side, cheek to Jon’s collarbone, long legs dangling over the edge.

“I’m so mad at you right now,” Tommy said into the quiet, voice low and rumbling against Jon's skin. “I can’t believe you would do something this shitty.” He rubbed his face tiredly against Jon's chest. “But I’m also so glad you told me. And grateful, I guess? That at least I know, now.” He huffed. “I’m in a really weird place right now.”

Jon couldn’t help but let out a weak peal of hysterical laughter. “Same.”

An overwhelming tenderness crept over him as he felt how Tommy was still shaking slightly from adrenaline. He smoothed his hand over his hair. If he glanced down, he could see his belly and Tommy’s hair and he was hit with a now-familiar bolt of fierce protectiveness. He would kill to protect both of these things, the baby and Tommy, from anything and everything but especially himself.

He was going to have to be better at this.

Tommy grabbed for the remote and stopped on Meet the Press, and Jon resumed petting his hair. Jon put his other hand on his belly, pressing lightly in case the baby decided to move.

 _I’m going to learn how to deserve you_ , he vowed silently. _Both of you_.

 

*

  

They spent the day lounging on the couch, both worn out from all the emotion of earlier.

Jon couldn’t help but notice how careful they were being with each other. Him most of all, probably, touching Tommy lightly on the shoulder, the neck, laughing at him, teasing him but lighter than usual. Staying close.

He didn’t want Tommy to feel even the slightest bit uneven. It was his mission to make him feel completely on an even keel, from here on out. It was the very least he could do.

Eventually, they went to bed, and Jon finally got Tommy’s dick in him again. It felt like they both needed it, to be close and put everything else aside for a while. Jon craved it, desperately.

Which wasn’t to say that he wasn’t fucking nervous about it that he was shaking by the time Tommy was opening him up. 

He caught Tommy's wrist, pausing him as he scissored his fingers, slick with lube. Tommy hadn’t been more than an arm’s length away from Jon nearly all day, and having him up in Jon’s space made it easier to grit out, “Just—go slow, okay?” 

Tommy paused. He raised an eyebrow. 

“It’s been a while, okay?” he admitted.

“Oh?” Tommy said lightly. Jon didn’t necessarily appreciate the note of doubt. 

Jon rolled his eyes, ruffled at having to spell it out. “I haven’t gotten fucked since you, okay?”

Tommy tilted his head like a dog, confused. “But, Favs said you were going out all the time.”

“Oh, _did_ he now.” Jon sniffled. “Maybe I didn’t want him to know I’m the kind of basic idiot that just got, like— _so_ hung up on some straight guy.” 

“‘Some straight guy’? Lovett, first of all, I’m not some guy. I’m your _best friend_.” 

“ _One of_ my best friends.”

Tommy glared at him, and went on, “And straight guys generally don’t jerk off thinking about fucking their male friends, so...horse might be out of the gate there.” Tommy took a step forward, a hopeful look in his eye. “And finally—‘so hung up on’?” 

Jon put a hand on his face, shoving it away. “God, smug is such a bad look on you. You look like you’re going to shove one of the kids from Mighty Ducks into a locker.”

“Hey, that was almost a sports reference, nice one.” 

“Thanks, I was pretty proud of it.” 

They grinned stupidly at each other, Tommy’s finger in Jon’s ass shifting to the background as Jon just stared at him, at his beautiful, open face, his weird translucent eyebrows, the crinkly eyes. Jon felt unable to believe that it was this easy. That he’d told Tommy the truth, and he still got to _have_ him, apparently. It didn’t make sense. It felt on the brink of falling apart. But Jon was selfish, and his only instinct was to grab hold of Tommy and keep him as long as he was allowed. 

Tommy leaned to rummage through the side table, emerging with a strip of condoms. “We didn’t—last time,” he said jerkily. “But now, do you want? Should I?” He held them up and Jon couldn’t stop himself from shaking his head, fast.

"No. Just you. Want you bare."

"Christ, Lovett."

They were both clumsy after that, struggling to get in position so Jon's belly would be sufficiently out of the way. Finally, Tommy twisted him wav over to his side, shoved pillows under Jon's hips until his belly was supported, hips propped up so Tommy could slide in, holding himself over Jon, chest heaving, arms trembling. 

Jon could turn his shoulders enough that he could watch Tommy's face, see his skin go from pink to red. 

He cupped his face, choked groans pushed out of him as Tommy pushed all the way in. "Tommy," he whispered. He traced his mouth, desperate but mesmerized at the same time. His cock was aching but he wasn't in a rush to touch himself or get off, happy to watch Tommy getting worked up above him. Content with the luxury of running his hands up his shoulders and feeling him shiver.

Tommy shifted and the angle was perfect. Jon bit off a curse. Tommy dropped his head between his shoulder, grunting. He fell to his forearms, long body pressed all along Jon. Jon squirmed, twisting to keep his eyes on Tommy's face until Tommy buried his face in his neck.

They fucked, the only sound was them gasping, the hitching of Jon's breath, the deep groans working their way out of Tommy's chest with every sharp, powerful thrust of his hips.

“I wanted this,” he muttered, voice full of gravel. He circled his hips, Jon twitching, crying out. He was fucking hitting Jon just right, just there. Unable to hold back, Jon reached below his belly and groped for his cock, fisting the head, twisting his wrist around.

"So fucking good," he bit out, mindless, only half-listening to Tommy as Tommy fucked him so good, so hard. It was perfect.

Tommy licked at his neck, nosing up behind his ear, breaths striking Jon's skin and making him shiver. “When I was making plans to come out here, I wanted to do this. It was all I could think about.” His voice were so low. It made Jon flush. He picked up the pace, sliding in and out, gaining force, hips smacking meatily into Jon's ass. "I didn’t know if you would—oh, god—even  _want_ to."

“Always,” Jon muttered, stupidly honest with Tommy inside him. “Always want you.”

"And I hugged you at the airport, and I felt you against me, and for a split second—fuck, for a second, before you said anything else, I thought, 'that's mine.' For just a second, and I wanted it then, too—Fuck, Lovett. _Fuck_." Tommy fucked hard into him, sharp rabbity strokes, like he couldn't control it.

Jon groaned, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Tommy—I'm so sorry."

Tommy slowed, shushing him. "Sh, it's not—that's not what I was trying—" He got distracted, eyeing Jon fisting his own cock. He went to one elbow and pushed Jon's hand out of the way, taking Jon's cock and stripping it brutally.

"But it was mine. It _is_. I did that, we did that, it's so hot, I'm sorry, I can't help it, it's so _fucking_ hot, Jon." Tommy was snapping his hips now, rubbing just right at Jon's prostate, and the _shit_ he was saying, it was too much, almost.

"Tommy," he moaned. "I love that it's yours. I love it." So suddenly it caught him by surprise, Jon came, clenching down, yowling a little in a way that would definitely embarrass him later but he couldn't fucking worry about now.

Tommy groaned. "Lovett." He jerked Jon for a bit longer until Jon had to push his hand away, panting, and Tommy buried his face in Jon's neck and chased his own orgasm, going hard, jerking, and then coming inside him, sighing into Jon's neck. 

Afterward, winded, they lay in sheepish silence.

"Fuck me," Jon finally said. "That was some kinky-ass shit."

They dissolved into helpless giggles. Jon turned on his other side and looked at Tommy, face red from laughter and also embarrassment. He leaned forward and kissed him, laughing into his mouth until they quieted and were just brushing their lips against each other softly.

Sighing, Tommy pulled back. He ran his eyes over Jon's body, and Jon wanted to cover up, because out of the heat of the moment he felt fat and ugly again, and Tommy looked so _good_ , lean and still all sweaty and pink everywhere.  
  
But then Tommy placed his hand on Jon's naked belly, and Jon resisted.

"I can't believe I get to have this," Tommy marveled. He rubbed along Jon's belly. He brushed a kiss onto Jon's forehead. "I can't believe." He flashed a quick, disbelieving grin at no one.

Jon twisted and wrapped his arms around Tommy, hugging him tight, unable to breathe for a minute.

He couldn't speak, too overcome. Tommy didn't push him, just let him lightly strangle him with the force of his hug, murmuring softly, the baby tucked away safely between them.

 

*

 

They told Favs together, or really, Jon sat next to Tommy while he told Favs.

Emily was out, which made Jon nervous. He wanted an ally, and Favs looked suspicious as soon as they sat down.

Tommy spoke for a while, serious and straightforward, Jon too nervous to let out a single noise. He felt Favs staring at him the entire time Tommy spoke.

When Tommy was done speaking, Favs' eyes went wide.

“Are you fucking serious?” he demanded. He was still staring at Jon. He sat on the edge of the couch, arms rigid propped on his knees. “Are you fucking _kidding_ me, Lovett?” 

“No, it’s real,” Tommy said. He sounded tenser than when he’d been explaining it to Favs in the first place. “It’s mine. The baby is mine.”

But Favs barely seemed to hear him. “And you just kept it from him?” he asked Jon.

Jon exhaled shakily. No use lying anymore. He nodded shortly. 

“I can’t fucking believe you,” Favs fumed. “That’s so fucked up. How could you lie about something like that? How _could_ you?”

Jon didn’t know what to say. How did you explain the logic behind a panic response? How did you tell someone what it felt like to exist in a state of suspended terror for literal months until you couldn’t even think anymore?

“All this time, you’ve just been fucking lying to Tommy? To all of us?” Favs shot to his feet, pacing a few times until he came to a stop, looming over Jon on the couch. “How could you fucking do such a thing, Lovett, jesus _christ_.”

Jon had no fight left in him. He stared down at the carpet. He just wanted to melt away. He put his hand on the swell of his stomach reflexively and tried to drift away from this room, the guilt and self-hatred so thick he could feel it on his skin.

Tommy stood up in one sudden movement, startling Favs into momentary silence. Jon watched them both, nervous, as Tommy planted his feet so his shoulder was firmly between Favs and Jon on the couch. Jon wanted to laugh at the absurdity that he would ever need someone to protect him from _Jon Favreau_ of all people, but still, in the moment, he was so grateful. 

“You need to calm down, Jon,” he told Favs sternly, voice so low it was barely audible.

Favs made a scornful, disbelieving sound. “Are you fucking with me? How the fuck are you so calm, _you_ should be freaking out!” Out of the corner of his eye, Jon saw Favs gesture sharply in his direction. “This whole thing is _fucked_.”

Jon heard Tommy take a deep breath. He looked up and saw Tommy lean forward, just slightly. Crowding Favs until Favs rolled his eyes and backed away.

“I know this is a lot to handle,” Tommy said, evenly, in his press secretary voice. “It was a shock for me too. But Lovett and I have talked about it, and even though keeping it from me was wrong, I’m glad he told me, and I want to be a part of this with him.”

It wasn’t quite the ringing declaration of love and devotion that Jon stupidly hoped for, but Tommy was standing next to him, close enough that the back of his leg was pressed against the fronts of Jon’s knees, and he wasn’t moving away. He was staring Favs down, every word confident, like he wanted Favs to argue. 

Favs still looked absolutely disgusted. He turned away, like he couldn’t even bear to look at Jon. Like he didn't even know him.

“Whatever,” he said, back to them both. “Thanks for telling me, I guess.”

Jon waited for more, but Favs was apparently done with them. Swallowing, Jon began the process of getting up from Favs’ deep, comfy couch. It involved a lot of rocking to build momentum, and he couldn’t quite manage it until Tommy reached down to pull him up with a hand on his elbow.

“I’ll give you a call later,” Tommy said, and turned for the door, leaving Jon no choice but the follow along.

It was clear Favs didn't want him in his house right now, anyway.

Jon paused as he walked by Favs, still staring pointedly into the empty kitchen rather than at Jon. “I’m really sorry,” he said, helpless. “It all just got so out of control really fast, and I was so scared, and I was an idiot.” He was crying again. God, all the time with this shit. He wiped at his streaming eyes. “I’m sorry, Jon.”

He felt Tommy put an arm around his waist. “Let’s go,” he said quietly into the shell of Jon’s ear.

Out on the lawn, Jon stuttered to a stop. Tommy stood next to him, still holding his arm, instantly alert. “You okay? What is it?” 

“I really am sorry,” he said miserably. It seemed impossible that there would ever come a time when he wasn’t repeating it over and over. When he wouldn’t owe it to Tommy, every second of every day.

Tommy sighed. He leaned forward and pressed a long kiss to Jon’s forehead. 

“We’ll figure this out, Lovett.” He breathed against the thin skin of Jon’s temple for a moment. “Favs will be okay. You know how he is, he gets really caught up thinking he knows people so well, and then when they surprise him, he freaks out a little.” 

Jon didn't say that Favs' anger just made Jon feel more justified in hating himself.

As Tommy led him back to his house, touching him so gently, attentive as usual, it was all Jon could do not to curl into himself and wilt.

He managed it, though. He kept his hand on his belly and kept on walking until he was safe in the house, Tommy by his side. 

That had to be enough. He would make it enough.

 

*

 

The baby moved for the first time four days later.

Favs still wasn’t talking to him, and seemed content to avoid him for the entire week until it was time to meet about the podcast, and the most he’d seen of Emily was when she’d mournfully waved at him from the driveway while Favs ignored him where he waited inside the car.

He was on the porch, sadly watching them drive away, when he felt it. 

“Whoa.” It was so weird, and also kind of anticlimactic. It felt like a shiver, but from the inside. 

He put his hand to his belly, but he could only feel the tiniest flutter.

“Tommy!” he hollered, probably louder than he needed to, but he was freaking out a little.

Tommy came clattering onto the porch, turning Jon around so he could run his hands all over him like thought he’d been the victim of a drive-by. “What is it? What’s wrong?" 

He laughed, giddy. “It moved.” He yanked Tommy’s hand to his belly. “It moved, I felt it.” Like it knew it was being called, it moved, a small shiver of movement. “Can you feel it?”

Tommy was frowning, in deep concentration. His mouth drooped. “I don’t think so.”

Jon laughed again. He felt high almost. “Well, I think that’s normal. It might be a few more weeks before you can feel it, too. The little late bloomer.” 

Tommy, the champ, didn’t even mock Jon for saying something as nerdy as ‘late bloomer,’ and it was all Jon could do not to bonk his stomach into him and squeeze him tight around the waist until his head popped off like a dandelion, ferociously tender.

Man, he was in a weird mood. Good, though. Hopeful.

Throwing an arm around Jon, Tommy said, “Well, until then I still say we should just find out the sex. It’s so weird calling it an ‘it.’”

Jon bit his lip against his smile. He nudged his shoulder against Tommy. “‘We,’ huh?”

Tommy went still, unsure. “Yeah is that...okay?”

Jon nodded. His eyes were damp again, maudlin and unable to do anything about it. He nestled into Tommy’s chest, still clutching his belly with one hand, the baby shifting lightly every couple of minutes.

“I want it to be a surprise,” Jon admitted. “But if you want to find out, that’s fine, too.”

As Tommy considered, he secretly thrilled, pleased Tommy wasn’t reflexively following Jon on this at least.

“No,” he said finally. “I want to be surprised, too. I just don’t like the ‘it' thing.”

“A few more months and we’ll know for sure.” It felt wild, being able to talk about this so openly. No secrets. Jon shook his head. So wild. 

He rubbed at his stomach, Tommy covering the top of his hand with his own warm palm.

“Hey, in there,” Jon said shakily, feeling like a goddamn idiot talking to nothing.

It was really happening. 

They stood on the porch for a while longer, Jon straining for every tiny movement the baby made, until Tommy made him go inside.

  

*

 

Jon suspected Favs probably would have had held on to his pique for another few weeks if he hadn’t had to save Jon from fainting and cracking his head all over the sidewalk a week later.

He went down to get the mail while Tommy hopped in the shower, and when he turned around he saw Favs watching him from his front window. He pretended like he was just drinking coffee and reading his tablet _near_ the window, but Jon knew better. He could see him glancing up at him every few moments.

Part of him almost craved the reminder of what a fucking shithead he was when he thought of Favs and his outrage, and part of him, a growing part, wanted his other best friend to fucking forgive him already so they could get back to normal.

Maybe it was selfish. So what, Jon was selfish a lot of the time, so it felt on brand. He didn’t have time right now to fight with Favs. He had everything happening with the baby, and the increasingly overwhelming way he felt about Tommy, and all the work preparing for the pod as the summer wore into fall and primary season, unbelievably, began ramping up nearly two years in advance.

He shoved his mail to his chest and rolled his eyes very visibly and dramatically in Favs’ direction.

He must have been overly zealous in his execution, though, because the next thing he knew he was abruptly dizzy and crumpling to the ground. 

When he opened his eyes, he was propped up against the mailbox. He still felt dizzy. He scrambled for his belly right away, worried he had fallen on it or something. He clutched at it like he would be able to feel that if something had happened to the baby that way or something.

“Jon?”

Favs was crouched in front of him, face creased in worry.

“Favs?” he croaked out. “What the fuck?”

“You keeled over,” Favs supplied. “I saw it from inside.” He peered at Jon’s face. “It was very graceful, though. Just slid to the ground. Like a ballerina.” 

Jon rolled his eyes. “I knew you were watching me from inside, asshole.”

Favs’ mouth tightened, but he still offered Jon his hand and waited patiently as Jon slowly clambered to his feet with Favs’ help.

He expected Favs to let him walk away, remain in his huff for a little longer, but instead, he kept at Jon’s elbow as Jon walked slowly back into the house.

Tommy was still in the shower when Favs followed Jon into his house. Pundit rushed over, worried like she could tell something was off. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he said, letting her jump on his legs even though that was usually Not Allowed. “All fine.” 

He sat at the kitchen table. Favs hovered in the doorway. “Does that happen a lot?

 Jon bit his lip. "First time. The doctor said it would probably happen soon, though. Relatively normal, which is bullshit."

“How have you been feeling overall, though?” Favs looked twitchy as he asked. 

Before Tommy moved down, there had been nearly a month and a half where Favs was his go-to complaining vessel. If Jon had a pregnancy grievance, Favs was the first to hear about, serenely interested in all of Jon’s bullshit, big and small.

Jon tried to remember that as he said, stiffly, “Fine, mostly. Getting a little sick in the mornings sometimes. Everything hurts. Apparently, I swoon when I go to get the mail sometimes.”

Favs laughed, the easy boom Jon had been really missing, and sat down on a bar stool. “So it’s going really well, then.” Then, tentatively, “But you’ve been okay?”

Jon crossed his arms, relieved but needing to be annoyed to hide it.

“Why do you care?” he asked sullenly. "Does that mean you’re done punishing me now?

Favs sighed, annoyed. “I wasn’t punishing you. I just—I was surprised.”

Raising an eyebrow, Jon corrected, “And mad at me.”

“And mad at you, fine.” Favs shrugged. “I guess I’ve been more freaked out about this than I realized. More worried about you. About what you might be hiding next.”

Fuck, that hurt. Jon looked at his lap.

“No, I mean—you must have been fucking freaking out that whole time about things with Tommy and you never told me. You just decided to grin and bear it. It felt shitty, that you didn't think you could tell any of us. You just kept it in."

Such a boy scout. Jon scowled at him. "I always say when something's wrong. I always complain.”

“But not about big stuff. Not when it comes to asking for help.” Favs smiled bemusedly. “You’re way too stoic, in a weird backwards-ass way.’

Jon didn't know what to say to that 

“I guess it’s good that Tommy’s here, then. You don’t seem to have a problem with telling him what you want.”

As though summoned, Tommy poked his head in the kitchen door. "I thought I heard you—oh. Hey, Favs." He looked warily from Jon to Favs, unsure. "All good?" he asked Jon.

“I’m hungry and my feet hurt and I fainted outside.” Jon held his hands out, all _what can you do_?

Tommy started in alarm and hurried over. “What? Really? Did you hurt yourself? Are you okay?” He ran his hands down Jon’s shoulders and arms, searching.

Jon rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m gravely injured, that’s why I’m sitting calmly at the table now.” He jabbed his chin in Favs’ direction. “Favs decided to stop throwing a tantrum and came to my rescue.” 

“ _Lovett_ ,” Favs sighed out, long-suffering.

“Oh,” Tommy said, slowly. He kept a hand on Jon’s shoulder, turning to Favs. Something unspoken and serious passed between them. Jon kicked his feet against the chair, waiting for whatever bro-ritual was occurring to conclude. 

“So, hungry, huh?” Tommy said after a moment, turning appraisingly to Jon. “We feeling cereal or we feeling eggs?”

Jon nodded, preening a little. “Yes, please.” 

Tommy laughed, sharing a fond look over Jon’s head with Favs, which Jon pretended to scowl at. Mostly he felt warm and still a little dizzy from fainting and the baby was moving around and it was kind of perfect, actually. Shit, he was a fucking sap anymore. 

“You want some breakfast too?" Tommy asked Favs.

Favs looked to Jon, who nodded begrudgingly. "Only if you let Emily come over and play too. It was fucking unfair as shit that you got to keep her in the separation."

"She's my fiancee, man."

"Erroneous. Erroneous on all counts."

Favs and Tommy laughed, and Jon grinned, helpless. 

"Yeah, man. Cereal, please," Favs told Tommy.

 They ate breakfast, and Jon smiled the entire time, helpless to do anything but.

 

*

 

The fact was, though, Jon couldn’t help but be a monster a lot of the time, and it was becoming a problem.

He found that no matter what Tommy said, it was impossible for Jon to believe that Tommy had really forgiven him—there was just no way. It didn’t make any sense. 

So Jon started to push at him. Pick at Tommy’s cool exterior. Anything to get him to finally yell and scream and punish Jon like he really deserved.

Tommy resisted, stubbornly, for weeks, but slowly Jon got to him. Jon didn’t know how he had held out for that long; he was truly being such a pain in the ass. 

But he couldn’t stop. He just needed Tommy to be sure, was the thing. That he really wanted this. That he knew Jon wasn’t going to get any easier. Far from it. That there might be a cute baby at the end of this, but Jon was definitely the weaker half of that bargain. 

So he kept pushing, and Tommy’s mouth started to affect a constant grim line, and Jon didn't know what he was trying to prove, really.  

It came to a head with Jon throwing a dish in the sink one afternoon and whirling on Tommy, who was stonily refusing to argue back. “Just leave me the fuck alone, then, if you’re going to ignore me." He stomped into the bedroom, flopping down, fuming.

Tommy came barreling in after him, apparently ready to fight. Finally. Jon didn't know why he was so unnerved at the prospect, if it was what he had been angling for. 

He watched Tommy sit hard on the bed, Jon obstinately refusing to sit up, crossing his arms and glaring. Rolling his eyes, Tommy caught his hands and trapped them against the bed above Jon’s head, holding him down but making sure not to strain his shoulders, so careful with him it was nauseating. Jon wanted to kick at him, uselessly. Tommy threw a leg over him, pinning him down.

“Just—behave, for once? Okay?” Tommy squeezed his wrists warningly.

Jon glared up at him, feeling pretty damn insubordinate. “Don’t pretend like you actually want me,” he spat out. “You’re only here because of the baby, and pretty soon you’re going to hate both of us for trapping you into something you never wanted.”

He stubbornly enjoyed how Tommy’s mouth was working, his face going red. “How can you fucking say that?” He looked like Jon had kicked him in the head. Good, Jon thought mutinously. He couldn’t really bend that way anymore so it was nice to know he could at least get the job done metaphorically. “Jon, how can you even fucking _think_ that?” 

Tommy let go of Jon’s wrists, hunching over so he could cup Jon’s head with both hands, trapping Jon down so he couldn’t turn away, only roll his eyes. 

“Because it’s true!” Jon grabbed for Tommy’s wrists, grappling to pull them away, to escape, digging into his forearms, but Tommy wasn’t budging. “You’re stiill mad at me for not telling you, I can tell, even though I was trying to do this _for_ you. You don’t want this.”

Tommy shook him once by the head, soft but firm, like a golden retriever tugging on a rope but not wanting to hurt anyone, really.

“You don’t get to tell me what I want. I don't know why you don't trust me, but that's on you. That's not my fault.”

Jon flinched. Their faces were so close together he could headbutt Tommy, or lean up and kiss him, he wasn’t sure what he wanted right now.

Tommy made the call. He pressed their foreheads together, eyes closed. Jon found he didn’t want to pull away. He was trembling, holding on for dear life to Tommy’s stupid strong forearms, his dumb belly knocking Tommy in the stomach so he had to curve over Jon like a comma to keep his hold on his head. 

“You’re such a martyr, I hate it,” Jon muttered. 

Tommy shook his head, brushing their foreheads together. “God, you’re insane,” he said wonderingly. “You make me insane.”

Jon huffed. “Why do you even want this, then.” It didn’t make any sense. Jon wasn’t going to get any easier. If anything, Tommy would probably look back on this moment as when Jon was at his most biddable. He would probably long for the halcyon days of this disaster pregnancy.

Above him, Tommy was sitting up again, just enough to rest his weight on one elbow and use his other hand to touch Jon’s face. Jon thought people only touched each other’s faces this much in the movies, but apparently, it was a Vietor signature move.

He combed Jon’s hair back with his fingers. He still looked fired up, like he wanted to keep arguing, but his eyes were also going hot and Jon was pretty much hardwired to react to that at this point. 

“I already told you, Lovett, I want you,” Tommy said.

“You have shitty fucking taste, man, it’s a real bummer to behold.” 

Tommy threw his head back in frustration, a strangled sound issuing forth. “Just let me— _love_ you, you stubborn idiot!”

Jon went still. Tommy hadn’t said that since the day Jon had finally told him the baby was his. Jon had assumed he had changed his mind or, more likely, realized that he’d never really felt that strongly for Jon in the first place. 

“God, Tommy.” Jon's mouth trembled. Tommy’s eyes darted to it but he didn’t comment. “Okay. _Okay_.” 

Tommy looked instantly alert. “Yeah?” he clarified, hopeful, always so hopeful. And when Jon nodded, he smiled, mouth going wide and almost scary with how open it made his face look.

Jon needed him, suddenly. Needed him so bad he practically threw him off the bed getting his hands on him. Tommy seemed just as desperate, though, so it was alright.

They fucked face to face, on their sides, a thousand pillows propping up Jon’s hips and legs and belly, Tommy situated below him at a weird angle that nonetheless got his dick inside Jon, which was all he really wanted.

They kept clutching at each other, gasping, straining to go slow and make it last, unable to keep from speeding up, the pace going ruthless and out of control quickly.

When they were finished, Jon couldn’t let him move away. Tommy was shaking. Jon was sweaty and unbalanced and he couldn't stop clenching his hands on Tommy's heaving sides.

He really fucking loved him.

“I really fucking love you,” he whispered, finally.

Tommy rubbed his forehead into Jon’s neck together tiredly. “Hard same.” 

Jon chortled, and they settled in. Between them, the baby was jabbing at his bladder but Jon forced himself to hold out for a bit longer. 

He took Tommy’s hand and put it on his stomach, and they felt the baby ram around in there. He always got more active after they fuck, which he liked to remind Tommy of sometimes because of the screwed up look of horror it put on his face.

Not now, though. Instead, he lay there quietly and hoped the baby knew they were out there, waiting for it.

 

*

 

Time seemed to tilt after that until the sand was running out twice as fast during the final trimester as it seemed to in the first two.

The baby made up for its earlier silence by going bonkers.

Jon wondered constantly about its personality, getting lost for minutes staring off, puzzling over who it would be, what kind of person. Trying to piece together clues, by how it kicked when Jon stood up after sitting for too long or wiggled sluggishly as Jon fell asleep with Tommy snoring in his ear, heavy and draped half on top of him. 

Tommy came with to all his appointments, and it wasn’t like Jon paid attention any less—it was still his kid, and he was still pretty freaked out about delivery, and he had a compulsive need to know as much as he could about uncertain situations—but he also knew anything he forgot he could just cross-reference with Tommy.

Tommy, who took incredibly diligent notes, and asked all kinds of thoughtful questions, and who Dr. Stevens obviously preferred for his studiousness and his disinclination to make as many nervous jokes as Jon did.

They had so much to do, all of a sudden—furniture, clothes, getting the house ready and painting the spare office that was now a nursery. If you were Tommy, reading an endless supply of deeply terrifying books about everything that could go wrong with the pregnancy and early childhood, and if you were Jon, thinking up excuses to not go to the fucking Lamaze class.

Favs and Emily were around a lot. They spent endless nights watching movies on Jon’s couch. He complained about being smothered, but really he loved being so firmly at the center of everyone’s attention.

It felt like he spent whole days getting his stomach rubbed, being able to demand water or a snack whenever he wanted, shoving his foot into a lap to get rubbed. Really these were still mostly Tommy, but Favs and Emily watched and didn’t roll their eyes at Jon’s demands, so it was like they were spoiling him by accessory. 

It was good. Even as the date approached, and he got increasingly uncomfortable, and the baby kept him up, it was really good. 

One day Jon came over to Favs', phone still in his hand, and found Tommy in the office alone, getting work done while Emily and Favs were gone for the weekend.

He walked up to him. “Did you call my dad?” he asked suspiciously.

Tommy didn’t look up from his laptop, humming interrogatively in question. Playing coy. The shithead. 

“My dad called me today, and I just wondered—were you perhaps behind that miraculous turnaround?”

“I just...couldn’t stop thinking, what if our kid told me something like this, and I reacted like a total dick, and then I wasn’t there for them like they needed me, and fuck. That would be horrible, Lovett. It would eat me alive.”

Jon opened his mouth. Let it hang for a moment. “Huh. That is...conceptual.”

“I just wanted to give your dad a chance to get his act together, that’s all,” Tommy said in a hurry, like he was embarrassed. “My dad was good at that. Giving people a second chance, sometimes." He paused, then, "Was it—was he nice to you, at least?” 

Nice. Oh, man. Jon’s dad wasn’t nice. But he had asked Jon deliberately how the podcast was going, and then they talked about the best dog training methods to keep Pundit from jumping on the kitchen table when Jon was out of the room, and by the time they hung up, they hadn’t argued about anything, and his dad said he was going to call again in a few days. 

It had been nice, in its own way, Jon supposed. 

He got up and walked over to Tommy, ignoring the laptop Tommy was intently focused on to wedge himself between Tommy and the desk, edging in until the width of his belly forced Tommy to sit up, leaning back against his chair.

“Lovett,” he protested, but he was already laughing and holding Jon steady as he settled.

He spread both big hands on Jon’s belly, thumbs rubbing softly up and down, up and down. He held him firm, holding him up so Jon could slouch a little, confident that Tommy would hold his weight.

As Jon looked at him, smiling up at Jon, touching him so sweetly, letting Jon interrupt him on a whim for just the promise of groping Jon’s pregnant belly—god, there was so much he needed to tell him. So much Tommy deserved to hear, about how Jon felt about him. How good Tommy was. How little Jon deserved him.

 But the words got caught up in his throat. Nothing felt big enough to hold the feeling.

“You can blow me, if you want,” is what he found himself saying instead.

It surprised a laugh out of Tommy, who also blushed, charmingly. “Such a sweet talker.”

Jon widened his knees, walking his feet out so Tommy was between his legs. 

“What, you saying you’re too good to suck my dick?” He tangled a hand in Tommy’s hair, tugging lightly. “You don’t want it?” Jon knew he did. It was one of a million weird things he was learning about him. He loved sucking Jon off. It was almost embarrassing how much.

Tommy was still red but his smile slipped away, eyes dark. He swallowed. Jon watched his adam’s apple bob. “No,” he admitted. “But Favs told us we’re not allowed to bone in here anymore, remember?”

Jon smirked at him. “What, gonna let Favs tell you what to do?”

It was a dumb goad, but Tommy’s eyes glinted, and he ducked his head under the desk, pushing Jon’s knees apart.

There’d been a sharp learning curve over the last month over blowjobs and Jon, but they’d figured it out. It mostly involved Jon leaning back and letting Tommy bend his tall frame mostly in half to get Jon’s dick in his mouth, so all told it was a solid win for Jon.

Tommy hummed, squeezing him at the base, swallowing the head. Jon twitched, getting all the way hard. He kept a hand on Tommy’s hair because he knew how much Tommy liked it.

He wanted Tommy to have the things he liked. He deserved it. 

“You’re so good to me.” His voice was so low. “You’re so good, Tommy. You take such good care of me, and I—fuck—I love how good you are to me.” 

It was so much easier to say this shit when they were having sex.

Tommy made a noise and sucked harder, his free hand rubbing just behind Jon’s balls, just enough for Jon to jerk, arch and come down his throat. 

He watched through slitted eyes as Tommy leaned back, fumbling for his dick in his jeans. He stared at Jon as he jerked himself off roughly, mouth slightly open, eyes darting from Jon’s mouth to his eyes to his belly to his face again.

Jon blinked at him, sleepy, and lifted a corner of his mouth. “So good to me,” he whispered, and loved watching as Tommy’s face went red, his wrist speeding up, and he groaned, loud and long, as he came.

He caught most of the come in his palm but Jon still watched some it slip onto the floor. 

“You better clean that come off the floor or Favs is gonna be pissed,” Jon said faintly.

Tommy didn’t answer. He tucked himself back in his pants and stood, grabbing a tissue from over Jon’s shoulder to wipe his hand off. He still staring at Jon, every muscle tense. 

Jon started to get a bit uneasy under his gaze. He opened his mouth but didn’t get a chance to get defensive, because Tommy was bracing himself on the table on either side of Jon's hips. He leaned down and kissed him, messy, licking into Jon's mouth. It started hot and gradually came down, until they were kissing softly, lips brushing together.

They pulled apart and looked at each other. Jon felt shy, for some reason. Tommy looked like he wanted to say something, but he closed his mouth. He wiped at the sweat on his face and straightened up.

“Want to go home?” He held out a hand to help Jon up. “I’m beat, and I still have to put that crib together all by myself.” He smirked as Jon grumbled, yanking himself up with Tommy’s help. He ignored Tommy as he pulled Jon’s sweats up above his hips, feeling a rant coming on.

“You know, I’ve gained like thirty pounds and my feet are probably permanently flat and soon I’m going to have a seven-pound baby scooped out of me with a melon-baller, but sure, putting a crib together unaided is practically the same. Totally. What a hero.”

Tommy laughed easily, looping an arm lightly over Jon’s shoulders. Jon let him, because it was nice and also he felt so off balance anymore.

“I’ll trade with you anytime, pal,” he said, still ranting, and refused to purr or something else stupid when Tommy kissed him on the side of the head.

They stepped out of Favs’ house and into the evening shade, the street mostly quiet. 

“No, I think you have this under control,” Tommy said, breezily confident in Jon's ability to gestate—like it wasn't a big deal, like Jon wasn't blushing—and led them back to Jon’s house.

 

*

 

A month before Jon’s due date, Tommy had to go back to Boston for his great-aunt's funeral.

“It’s okay,” he kept saying, “I’ll just send some flowers and call my uncle, I don’t have to go.”

Jon was already suspicious that Tommy’s mom probably hated him for keeping the baby from Tommy for so long. He wasn’t privy to how Tommy had ultimately broken the news, but he suspected she could connect the dots on her own. The last thing he wanted was to keep her precious baby boy sequestered halfway across the county, refusing to let him leave Jon’s terrible pregnant lair for a goddamn funeral.

So he shook his head, doing his best to be stoic about it. “Tommy, it’s fine,” he said. “Just go and come back, we’ve still got plenty of time.” 

Tommy looked unconvinced, but after a couple days of bickering and Jon covertly buying his plane ticket, Tommy finally conceded.

He insisted Jon stay with Emily and Favs, though, which Jon thought was overkill, but Tommy looked anxious enough to snap in half at the prospect of Jon staying home alone, and Jon didn’t relish the idea of being by himself either, so he relented.

Still, it was nearly impossible to kick him out the door the morning of his flight.

“I can reschedule,” he said, his rolly bag packed and ready by the front door. “I can fly out later this afternoon, it’s fine.”

Favs laughed at him. “Oh my god, relax.” He patted Jon on the knee where he was slouched next to him on Favs’ comfortable couch. “Emily and I are old hands at Lovett duty. We’re good. We got this.” 

Jon kicked at him, which Favs affably ignored. He really was good at Lovett duty, even Jon had to admit that.

Tommy still hovered at Jon’s side, hand clasped on Jon’s shoulder like someone was going to have to peel him away. “Call me for anything, okay? I can step away whenever, it’s not a big deal.”

Now Jon couldn’t help but laugh at him. “Tommy, _go_. You’re going to miss your flight. I’m fine.” His chest felt warm, though, and he covered Tommy’s hand with his own, squeezing tight. 

Emily came in from the kitchen and stopped at the sight of Tommy. “Why are you still here? You’re flight’s in an hour and a half.”

Tommy closed his eyes, sighing. “Christ.” He straightened. “Okay. I’m going.”

It was still another five minutes of fussing and one long, lingering kiss to Jon’s forehead before he finally stepped away.

He paused at the door. “I’ll call you when I land, okay? And if I need to come home, just say the word, okay?” He tugged his dorky baseball hat on his head, eyes tight.

“Go!” Jon, Favs and Emily cried in unison, all starting to crack up.

Tommy threw his hands up. “Fine! I’m going!” He gave Jon one last, haunted look and hurried out, shutting the door behind him.

Jon could feel Favs and Emily watching him. He ignored their amused, knowing looks, mumbling, “He’s such a stress ball about the baby.”

Favs snorted. “Yeah. Just the baby.”

Favs and Emily spent most of the weekend keeping Jon diligently entertained. They let him choose movies, where they ate dinner, smiled indulgently when he complained about the waiter and the couple next to them and the burger he ordered and didn’t like and still ate all of. 

By Sunday, though, he was really missing Tommy. It was dumb because he’d barely been gone a few days and he texted Jon incessantly, questions and comments and pictures of suburban Massachusetts.

 _I don’t miss you a whole bunch._ He texted him on Sunday. I _had no trouble sleeping last night, and I definitely didn’t wake up with that stupid Coldplay song stuck in my head._  

Almost immediately, Tommy sent back, _same_. Then— _can't wait to see you_. _tell the baby not to work too hard._  

Jon sighed, wistfully, like a maiden trapped in a tower, and put his chin in his hands where he hunched at the kitchen island. Favs, eating cereal beside him and also preternaturally able to sense Jon’s distress, poked him in the shoulder.

“Have you settled on a shortlist for names yet?”

“Yeah,” Jon said tiredly. “I’m thinking Newt if it’s a girl, or Strom if it’s a boy. Tommy wants Benjamin or Natalie because he’s a basic bitch. Which faction will win? Only time will tell.”

Favs laughed easily. “Well, Newt is a strong name. But is it regal enough?”

“Also on the list is Barron.”

The truth was, Jon had no idea what they were going to name the kid. He hadn’t even met it yet, how was he supposed to know what kind of person it was going to be?

But he was also distracted because he’d been avoiding asking Favs to be the godfather all weekend and it was getting down to the wire. He promised Tommy he’d talk to him about while he was gone. Jon whined about having to do it alone, but Tommy insisted, and Jon wasn’t an idiot so he knew it was partially because Tommy could tell Jon still felt skittish around Favs, even months out from their showdown.

Jon didn’t know why he was still so nervous. Things with Favs had improved significantly. If Favs still judged him for keeping it from Tommy for as long as he did, he didn’t show it. It was probably more in Jon’s head, now.

Still, it took him a while to work up to it, and finally managed it while Emily was running errands and Pundit and Leo were curled up on Leo’s bed together like two beautiful baby angels and Jon was watching Favs make dinner and eating most of a thing of hummus by himself.

“How well equipped do you feel to take responsibility for a half-Jewish baby’s religious education?” Jon asked casually.

Favs laughed, automatic, which made Jon suspicious about whether he truly listened to Jon’s awesome jokes before laughing or if it was just rote, which if it was that was total _bullshit_ —then Favs seemed to take in the words, and turned to Jon.

“Wait, really?” His eyes were wide.

“Come on, of course, really. Who else?” Because, truly, who else? No one would be a better godparent than Favs, and by rights he should probably be everyone’s actual dad, even this baby, but it was too late—this was Jon’s disaster baby, and he was keeping it, no matter what.

Favs loped over and wrapped him in a hug, laughing. Jon hugged back, a little relieved, but Favs still hadn’t answered, which was not cool. 

“So, yes? Or are you letting me down easy, or—”

Leaning back to take Jon by the shoulders and shake him lightly, Favs laughed. His eyes were misty. “Christ, Lovett, _of course_. Of course! I’d be honored.” 

“Alright, don’t act so desperate,” Jon said, but he allowed Favs to hug him again, unwilling to admit he missed being constantly held by someone taller than him with excellent posture while Tommy was out of town.

As Favs let him go, he sighed contentedly. “I’m so excited for you and Tommy. And for all of us, really. Your baby is going to be the coolest, I bet.”

“I mean, don’t get ahead of yourself. He’s half-Vietor. He brings his guitar to parties sometimes," Jon said, even as he thought of how he had made Tommy promise under pain of violent death that he would never reveal to anyone that sometimes he played endless acoustic Coldplay medleys in bed to help Jon fall asleep. 

“Even so.”

Jon smiled to himself. He rubbed his hands over his belly, which seemed to be outrageously big and benignly in the way most of the time, which he didn't mind much, surprisingly. It felt good, having the kid so close at hand. So visible.

The baby was wiggling around in there, happy as a little fetus could be. 

“Yeah, I guess,” he said. He felt the baby kick at his hand. He smiled wider, nerves and excitement building like they had been for over a month. “I think so.”

 

*

 

Jon was asleep when Tommy got in, only rousing when he heard the bedroom door creak. He stirred, squinting at Tommy's tall, familiar form in the darkness. “Tommy?”

“Sh,” Tommy whispered, toeing off his shoes and pulling off his shirt and pants until he was just in his boxers. He crawled into bed, nudging Pundit out of the way so he could curl up around Jon. He gave his nearly-nonexistent waist a squeeze. “Go back to sleep.” 

“What are you doing here? What time is it?” Jon glared at the darkness outside the window. “You’re not due back until the morning.”

“Got an earlier flight.” Tommy pressed a kiss behind his ear. “Go to sleep.” 

Jon rolled his eyes. “You are so fucking dramatic. That must have cost a fortune.” But he still snuggled back into Tommy’s warmth. Let the satisfied sigh Tommy let out lull him back toward sleep.

“Sh,” Tommy insisted.

“Stop shushing me.” 

He pulled Tommy’s wrists in so he was cradling Jon’s chest more securely. Fuck, that felt good. Tommy was like a damn duvet, trapping heat like he was made out of down.

“I think I’m coming around to Newt,” Tommy muttered, startling a snort out of Jon.

“That’s a real shame because I was starting to like Natalie.”

“Too late. It’s Newt. Newt Vietor-Lovett.” 

Jon snorted again. It was just like Tommy to give Jon the premium hyphenate slot without putting up a fight.

He squeezed his hand again, asleep before he realized it was happening.

 

 

*

 

 

They’d made elaborate plans with Dr. Stevens about the delivery, and then a few contingency plans with Favs and Emily, and then just Tommy, sitting tensely on the bed going through every possible scenario until he was wound up tighter than a spring and Jon groaned and shoved him over and jerked him off until he calmed the fuck down.

And still, despite it all, it went spectacularly to shit, because Jon was nothing if not a patented savant at self-sabotage in any and all things.

He wanted it on the record though that, on its face, it had felt like a charmingly thoughtful thing to do.

It was two weeks until his c-section date, and he had the morning to himself, Tommy and Favs off to take a meeting, a rare opportunity for Jon to sit on the couch by himself and fart in peace without having to blame it on Pundit when Tommy was around. Emily was set to come over in an hour, the only reason Tommy had deigned to leave him alone. 

Until then, he was blessedly alone and determined to enjoy it. 

He ended up just feeling restless. He’d been unable to sit still all morning, and there was nothing good to eat in the whole house and he was probably going to starve to death. His back was hurting and he kept walking laps, trying to soothe it.

He had a sudden unbelievable craving for the fresh cherries Favs had brought back after visiting a potential sponsor headquartered in Riverside. God, they’re been so fucking delicious, tart and sweet all at once. His mouth was watering just thinking about them.

Tommy had loved those cherries. Inspiration struck. Jon should get him those cherries, and then he would also get to eat them and get credit for being a thoughtful—what were they now, boyfriends? Was Tommy still just a baby daddy? He needed to figure that out.

Riverside wasn’t that far, right? Like, twenty minutes, probably? He’d pop out, get some fresh produce, have it all displayed charmingly for when Tommy and Favs got home, probably get Tommy to fuck him really good in gratitude. Genius. 

It had been a few months since he’d driven. He felt wobbly and out of practice.

Fuck, Riverside was farther than he’d thought. His phone kept rerouting him until he’d been driving for forty minutes and he thought there was a chance he was almost in Nevada.

He was distracted trying to figure out why his Google maps was being such a little bitch, and he’d feel horribly guilty for driving with his eyes on his phone, a top Tommy Vietor Pet Peeve, except he was super in the middle of nowhere, somehow. He kept passing fields, then a few houses, then longer stretches of fields.

Maybe the cherries were out in the country. That made sense. 

The car gave a whine, jerking his attention away from the phone. 

He felt his eyebrows climb up high, unable to believe what he was seeing, and relatedly, unable to believe he was a grown adult who ostensibly supported himself and a dog and had the finances to support a baby and had still managed to run out of gas in the middle of nowhere. He was the dumbest boy in school, apparently, and he was lost and out of gas.

He could only watch as the car slowed down, gradually then suddenly barely moving, rolling to a stop with barely enough time for Jon to guide it to the curb. It shuddered to a halt, and not seeing what option he had, Jon threw it into park.

The radio was still playing off the battery, whispering some annoying Drake song at him so he took the keys out of the ignition. He could hear his increasingly anxious breaths in the quiet of the car.

“Okay,” he said to himself and the baby. He patted his belly, focused on the sharp bump of the baby kicking or elbowing back at him. It was so active these days. Jon couldn’t wait to meet it, finally. “Okay. This is fine. It’s fine.”

God, Tommy would probably make fun of this until they were both dead—after he got done yelling at him for the rest of eternity for being dumb enough to forget to check the gas tank. It was quite a life together Jon had to look forward to.

Damn pregnancy brain. Maybe he could find some other way to blame it on the baby. He’d probably have to workshop it for a bit, but there had to be a way.

Should he call someone? He messed with his phone, trying to figure out where the fuck he was, but Google maps kept searching, and searching, and then giving him the no data message. “Fuck you,” he told it.

He was about to get out of his car to see if he could walk somewhere with a human and figure out where the fuck he’d managed to get stalled, door open, when his motherfucking water broke.

He knew what it was immediately. It got all over the car. He stared at the growing pool in the foot well, frowning.

“What the hell?” He looked accusingly at his belly. “Come on, that’s so unfair.”

He bobbled the phone as he slid it unlocked, nearly dropping it, swearing. 

He finally dialed as guilt prickled his skin, and fear too. 

“Hey, Jon,” Tommy said, answering on the first ring. He sounded like he was smiling, even through the shitty reception. “What’s up?” 

Jon gulped, hearing Tommy in his ear making everything a thousand times more real. “Tommy.” His voice was high and shaking. “Um, it’s happening.”

He could barely make Tommy out as he replied, instantly worried, “Jon? What’s happening? Where are you?”

A sharp cramp hit Jon in the side before he could answer—contraction, shit, it was an actual contraction—traveling quickly and sharply across his entire abdomen. It was like being squeezed from the inside. He hunched over the steering column, riding it out, panting miserably.

Finally, he huffed out, “I’m in labor, I think.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Tommy burst out furiously. Jon must have made some kind of sound because Tommy immediately quieted. “Shit, I’m sorry. It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m—I’m leaving now, I’m getting in my car. Where are you?" 

It was difficult to speak. Jon’s lips felt numb. “Um. I don’t know for sure.”

“Lovett, what do you mean you don’t know?” Tommy had his unreasonably patient voice going on, but frustration was already fraying the edges. 

“I’m in the car, and the car broke down.” Jon winced. “Well, it didn’t really break down, it ran out of gas.” 

He could hear Tommy exhale sharply through his teeth. “ _Jon_.” 

Jon really didn’t need that tone of judgment right now. “I know, okay? I fucking _know_!”

“Okay, calm down, just—use Google maps and drop a pin and I’ll come get you.”

“It’s not—it’s not working, I can’t get the thing to load, my data is all over the place out here.” He couldn’t regulate the pitch of his voice and he was crying now, softly.

Tommy murmured, “It’s okay, you're okay.” There was shuffling in the back, jangling of keys, Jon thought he heard Pundit whining. “You’re okay, I’m coming to get you.” 

“My fucking hero,” Jon said, laughing wetly.

“You’re goddamn right I am,” Tommy said, not joking, sincere as a fucking heart attack, _god_ , Jon just wanted to slug him sometimes, he just wanted Tommy to _be here_ so he was close enough to punch. 

He felt the baby shifting restlessly in his stomach. He tried not to think that it was panicking, trapped, nowhere to go. He rubbed at the taut skin, trying to transmit calm energy or some shit. He didn’t want his baby to be scared.

“Fuck, Tommy,” he choked out. “I’m in the middle of nowhere, there's just, like a big empty field and old empty building, it's completely haunted or filled with murderers, I mean, or maybe murderous ghosts, who knows, it’s a new America—” He cut himself off, another cramp that wasn’t quite a contraction still uncomfortable as all hell rolling through him like an aftershock, leaving him breathless. When it finally let him go he was breathing hard. “Shit, Tommy. This is really bad, I think.”

Tommy gritted something out, maybe it was a swear, Jon wasn’t sure, because Jon couldn’t focus. He felt like he needed to get his affairs in order. It felt like that kind of time.

“I know I don’t say it enough, but I really love you,” Jon whispered. 

“Shut up, Lovett,” Tommy snapped. He sounded like he was in the car now. In the distant background, Jon could hear Favs. He was glad Favs was with Tommy. Favs could help Tommy. He could help him deal with this. “We’re coming for you now. Just shut up and don’t talk like that.” 

Jon tried to smile, lip wobbling. “Love it when you yell at me.”

“I’m not yelling at you,” Tommy shot back, always reflexively argumentative when he was stressed. Then, voice lower, “Just try and calm down, okay? Try the breathing. The panting thing, remember?”

“Not really,” Jon admitted wearily. He hadn’t really been paying attention during the last class. He didn’t see how it mattered since he was supposedly getting a c-section anyway, and besides, he knew Tommy was taking it all in. Organizing it into columns in his brain. Probably adding it to a master childbirth spreadsheet he had squirreled away at home.

“I really do, though,” he whispered. “Love you.”

“God, stop it.” There was the sound of Tommy arguing with Favs about something. The phone was muffled, like he was pressing it to his chest. Strained, he said, “Lovett. I love you too. Just, talk to Favs for a minute, okay?”

And then Jon was talking to Favs. “Hey buddy,” Favs said gently. “How’s it going?”

“I’ll level with you, I’ve been better, Favreau,” Jon muttered. “Been a lot better.”

Favs laughed shakily. “Not surprised to hear you say that, buddy. Now listen, we’re trying to find you, but you need to help us, okay?”

“I got lost,” Jon admitted. “I don’t know where I am.” 

“Where were you trying to go, though?" Favs' soft, lispy voice was soothing, even as he unsneakily probed for intel. Jon didn't call him on it, though. "Do you remember?"

“I was—cherries. I was getting cherries.”

“Lovett.” Favs sounded like he was having a hard time holding it together, calm façade fracturing. “Are you in fucking Riverside?”

In the background, Jon could hear Tommy squawk, repeating “fucking _Riverside_?” in outraged disbelief. 

Jon sputtered, feeling very ganged up on in a way he didn’t appreciate when he was in fucking _labor_ , thank you very much. “That’s where the best cherry stand is, Jonathan! What do you want me to do, get shitty cherries?” 

Favs regained his chill, with what sounded like extreme effort, just in time for him to proclaim, “Wait, I know where you are. You’re by that—I think it was a candy factory. Do you see a tall smokestack?”

Jon craned his neck to look out the back window. He didn’t see it, he didn’t see it—there. “Yes! I see it! Candy factory, sure. You’re a fucking genius, Favs.”

“I actually got lost out there, too,” Favs confessed. “It’s how I found the cherries in the first place.”

Vindicated, Jon pointed out tiredly, “See, easier than you’d think, right?” 

“He’s in Crestmore Heights,” Favs was saying, muffled, and Jon assumed he was talking rapidly to Tommy now. He could barely make out Tommy, who seemed to be murmuring to someone else, or on a different phone. It was hard to tell.

“You’re the best, Favs,” Jon said dreamily. He just wanted to conk out and sleep through this labor thing, if it was all the same to everyone else.

In the background, Tommy was speaking rapidly to someone. Who else was he with? Then—oh, Tommy was on the phone with some kind of dispatch. “—He’s pregnant, he’s thirty-two, he’s in a black Ford Escape by the candy factory, the map says the cross street is—”

“Favs, this fucking sucks,” Jon admitted on a whisper. He was really scared.

“Someone’s going to be there so soon,” Favs promised. 

“I want to talk to Tommy.” 

“Hold on.” 

There was a shuffle, and then Tommy softly saying, “Hi, sweetheart.” 

“Hi, Tommy,” he said, face crumpling. He sniffled. “This was pretty dumb of me.” 

“Just hang on, okay? Just stay calm, and take care of the baby, and I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Jon swallowed, sitting alone in the car in his soaked sweatpants, shaking and stupid.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

It was going to be okay, he told the baby silently. Tommy said so. It was going to be okay.

 

*

 

Even the paramedics were, in Jon’s opinion, unfairly judgmental about the state they found him in.

“Man, you must really love cherries,” one of the guys said.

“They were for my boyfriend!” Jon shrieked, having long since fallen to total pieces. His contractions were getting worse, or they had started at worse and now they were fucking excruciating. “This is his fault, blame him.”

By the time he got to the hospital, in fucking Riverside where he now wished a plague would befall it and all its people, he had quieted, breathing through his teeth. He gave them his name and his doctor’s name and Tommy’s name and Pundit’s name and then another contraction hit, this one bigger than all the ones before it combined, and time stuttered for a bit.

He didn’t clock back in until a nurse was putting an IV in his arm.

“This should calm you down,” she said confidently. 

“Shit,” he said after a while. He blinked, the world coming back into focus, but fuzzier. Rose-tinted. He liked whatever was in that IV. 

After a while he got bored, waiting on a wheelchair in the hallway for a room to open up. Then he started to get restless, and then he felt on the edge of making a scene. 

“Okay, calm down,” the nurse from earlier said, harried. “You’re next in line.”

He was being wheeled into a room when there was some kind of shouting commotion down the hall. Slow, Jon turned his head, curious despite himself to see some kind of hospital rumble in Riverside take place. His vision was fuzzy, making him squint. 

“Lovett!” 

It was Tommy. He was loping madly down the hallway, heedless of the assorted medical personnel and equipment in his way. Jon watched as he shoved between two interns, uncharacteristically rude, not even stopping to say sorry. His eyes were locked on Jon like he was rushing to reach him across the deck of the Titanic. “Lovett! _Jon_!” 

Woozily, Jon raised a hand. “Hey there, pretty lady.”

Tommy skidded to a stop at his side, hands fluttering around Jon, clearly needing to touch but too conscientious of the IV and heart monitor and assorted medical detritus.

Jon grabbed his arm, pulling him down. “Tommy. I didn’t have the baby yet.” It seemed crucial that Tommy know that. It would kill him if he thought he missed the birth. "See?" He pointed at his belly, still very big and pregnant.

"I see," Tommy said, wobbly.

“Hey, let’s take this out of the hallway, okay?” the nurse suggested, smiling indulgently when Tommy turned his wide, blinking eyes on her.

“Is he okay?” he asked intently, still clutching Jon’s hand. “Is the baby—is everything okay?”

The nurse murmured something as Jon drifted. The hallways smelled so weird. The feel of the scratchy blanket on his knees was so weird. He rested a hand on his heavy belly. Man. What a day.

He drifted back in as Tommy checked again, hoarsely, “He’s really okay?”

“They’re both fine. Baby too.” 

“Fuck, thank god.” Jon watched Tommy rub at his eyes with a shaking hand, still holding on to Jon with the other.

He snickered to himself. “No, Tommy. I’m dead. I’m talking to you from beyond the grave.”

Tommy glowered. “Jesus, Lovett.” He straightened and let the nurse wheel him in, and helped Jon up from the wheelchair and into the gurney, Jon giving minimal effort, letting Tommy mostly tow him up and around.

When Jon was settled, Tommy pressed his hip on the edge, pressing his mouth to Jon’s temple and just holding it there. His breathing was unsteady. “Jesus, Lovett,” he repeated. He sobbed once, hard, then pulled away.

Jon hummed, trying to comfort him, even though he was feeling pretty out of it. “It’s okay.” He patted at Tommy’s chest. “You’re okay.”

“I’m pretty pissed at you right now,” Tommy choked out. 

Jon nodded. “Seems fair.” 

“Fuck, Lovett.” He kissed him on the mouth, and then was when Dr. Stevens came in.

He looked as calm and collected as Jon had ever seen him. He wondered if his hair ever moved. It was like a little hat. Jon giggled to himself. Man, he was funny.

“I hear you had you two a little adventure today,” Dr. Stevens said, nodding at Jon and his belly. 

The baby had stopped wiggling around quite so wildly since Jon had been admitted and given the good drugs. He nodded, hand still tangled in Tommy’s shirt. “Yep. He’s really mad at me.” He tugged on Tommy’s shirt to demonstrate. “Super mad.”

Tommy rubbed at his eyes with the back of his wrist. “Not that mad,” he said, sniffing. He stuck out his free hand out to Dr. Stevens. “Hi. Hello. Thanks for coming in.”

“Welcome to the board meeting, let’s get started,” Jon murmured, snickering. 

Dr. Stevens smiled tolerantly at him. It was possibly the warmest expression Jon had ever seen on his face. Jon liked him a lot. 

“I bet you hear this from all the girls, but I like you,” Jon told him dreamily. 

Through the fog of Feel Good, a pang hit Jon in the side. “Shit,” he muttered. Slowly, like a wave building speed, the contracting broke over him, making him twist. “ _Shit_.” He thought it wasn’t supposed to hurt as much anymore, but this hurt. It was slicing through the fine film that had been hugging him up until now.

Tommy clutched by his shoulder and his arm. “Jon? Breathe, okay? Okay?” He sounded borderline as panicky as Jon felt but he figured it probably wasn’t the time for notes right now. 

Dr. Stevens stepped up. “I think that’s our cue.” 

“He’s not coming with?” Jon asked shrilly. He grabbed for Tommy’s shirt snagging the hem and holding tight. “Why isn’t he coming with?”

“He is,” Dr. Stevens assured him genially, checking a monitor above Jon’s head. “Just needs to scrub up. We need to get you ready, and then he’ll meet you in there, ant then we can get this party started.” 

“Don’t try to be a cool doctor now,” Jon said witheringly. Nurses and a technician were moving around, detaching him from shit, adjusting the bed. There were too many people in this room. Way too many people. He whirled on Tommy. “Tommy Evelyn Vietor, you better get your ass in there as fast as human possible or I swear to _god_.” He couldn't think of a threat bad enough so he just stared at him desperately, eyes prickling.

Carefully untangling Jon’s clenched fist from his shirt, Tommy nodded, eyes still wet. He kissed Jon's knuckles, squeezing his hand once more before settling it on his chest. The nurses were already wheeling him away.

“Fuck,” Jon whimpered. He missed the concerned haze of a few minutes ago. He wanted that back. This hyper-vigilance was for shit. “Tommy.” 

“It’s okay,” Tommy promised, already being led away to put on some scrubs, “You’re okay, I’ll be there so soon. I love you.”

He wanted to mock him, say it wasn’t like Jon was being deployed or anything, but all he could do was blink, terrified, watching Tommy recede as they hurried him down the hallway.

Fuck, it was happening. It was now.

 

*

 

“Holy shit, our baby is a genius.” 

Jon couldn’t stop looking at him. God, their baby was pretty. 

“He’s just holding your thumb,” Tommy said, but he sounded awed, crowded up at Jon’s shoulder staring just the same. 

He was so little, and quiet. He peered up at Jon solemnly, blinking, nose twitching. He held onto Jon’s thumb with all five fingers. He seemed very polite.

Jon had expected any child of his would be a hellion, but maybe he’d been too quick to assume being a huge drama-loving brat was a dominant gene.

Ben tensed his tiny fingers around Jon's thumb, and Jon marveled.

"Ben is a really good name," he admitted idly. "He looks just like a Ben. Nice choice."

Tommy kissed the side of his head, not taking his eyes off the baby, off of Ben.

"How are you feeling?" he asked Jon softly. He'd been checking in every few minutes or so. 

Jon's whole body was sore, and he was so, so tired. Below his waist felt uncomfortable and tingly, and he desperately needed a shower.

He shrugged, unable to truly complain with Ben just sitting there in his lap, placid and warm.

"You did such a good job," Tommy said. He had an arm around Jon, hugging him gently. He kept doing that too.

Jon couldn't find it in him to mind any of it. He didn't consider himself someone who had great luck, or really any luck. He was used to getting by on aggressive energy and brash moxy, but for once, he thought—fuck. He was so _lucky_.

Favs and Emily were outside, he knew, and his parents were on a plane. Tommy had to step out soon and call his mom and step-mom and the rest of his family.

Neither of them could seem to find it in them to get up. Jon wanted it to just be them for a while longer. Their little family.

"Ben looks like a progressive," Tommy said quietly.

"He better fucking look like a Democrat, christ, don't even joke," Jon groused, and rubbed his thumb over Ben's soft head. He sighed. "Man. Least of our worries, I suppose."

Quietly, in quiet dismay, he realized he would still love this baby if he grew up to be a blowhard conservative. 

He stared down at his baby, mesmerized, and shit. It really must be love.

 *

 

The thing about recording a podcast was that there was no set schedule.

It wasn't like they had a timeslot to flip on the green ON light. If it wasn't for Favs, a neurotic timekeeper in all things, they wouldn't have gotten the first episode finished for another three weeks.

As it was, they were running behind the artificial schedule Favs had set, and he was harried.

"Relax," Jon told him. Ben was with him, mouthing wetly at Jon's collar. "Look at Ben, Ben's relaxed. I don't what you're so worried about." 

He cuddled Ben to his chest, cupping the back of his neck.

Beside him, Tommy leaned over to smooth his wispy baby hair back with one broad palm.

Favs pointed at the baby. "If he cries and we have to rerecord this, you're buying lunch."

"Ben is a consummate professional, who has never cried once in his entire life, and you shouldn't slander your godson." Ben hiccupped, eyes wide in surprise, presumably at Jon's outrageous lie. He'd woken Tommy and Jon up with his hellish screaming just that morning. God, Jon was so tired, all the time. Everyone told you you wouldn't get any sleep, and you thought you understood, but then the baby came and you didn't get _any fucking sleep_.

Ben hiccupped again, startling himself, and Jon couldn't be too bothered, at least not right now immediately. He smiled instead, stifling a yawn, nuzzling his soft baby head. Jon knew he was pretty disgusting anymore. He couldn't help it. He was definitely beyond soft. Ten-ply.

Favs laughed at him, shaking his head. He adjusted the mic one more time. "You good?" he asked them. "You gonna behave yourself, little man?" he asked Ben, who ignored him, which Favs appeared to take as tacit consent.

Tommy stroked Ben's head one last time, then sat back and looked at Jon. "Let's do this fucking pod, huh?"

Jon grinned. Met Tommy's eye. "Let's fucking do this."

 

*

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> *hysterical laughter* yikes.
> 
> sorry for the shockingly minimal amount of political content even though it's about a political podcast, frankly I needed a fucking break from it all and this fic was a goofy escape. thanks for reading my dumb thing. 
> 
> say hi on Tumblr (ohjafeeljadefinitelyfeel.tumblr.com) - it's mostly animal pictures and hockey players to be real honest with you.


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